A Blessed Silence
by uncreative pseudonym
Summary: Entry to the Trigun Alternate Pairing Contest. Long in the past, something was changed. Something that is going to change everything. Who is Vash really? What does the Police Department have planned? What's the pairing, for that matter?
1. Echoes of July

Updated to fit under the rulings regarding author's notes.

This was originally written for an Alternate Pairings contest, but it is now likely that contest will never reach any manner of end. Regardless, it caused me to fuse two of my seperate Trigun ideas into one story, and I think it is for the best.

My thought was to pair someone outside of the standard characters (Knives, Legato, Vash, Wolfwood, Meryl, Milly), and that was what I did. Being unfamiliar with fanfiction, it turns out I did something that has been done many times before. For whatever the sentiment is worth: that wasn't my intention.

Unfortunately, due to changing uploading policies, much of the formatting of this story has been stripped. Most annoyingly, page breaks may be gone, leading to abrupt jumps in sequence. Also, the asterisks used to censor words are gone, leaving only the first letter of the word. This is just fanfiction, though, and I doubt anyone cares greatly, so I will leave it as it is.

Now, the only important thing I have to say: I altered one event in the past for this story, and that changes a great deal. Hence, most deviations from the show are intentional (in addition to the plot itself being at least somewhat different). Excluding the prolog, this story takes place shortly after episode 10.

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Chapter 1: Echos of July

Cheerful music played softly in the background, overshadowed only slightly by the constant clinking of glasses on the counter top. Wiping a glass clean, the bartender straightened fully and glanced about. Stretching, he let a small smile creep onto his heavily tanned face. It was rare that things were this quiet, and he welcomed it.

This situation could turn ugly quickly, he knew. Many of the workers were done with their evening shifts, and relaxing here. It was too early for them to be drunk yet, and with any luck there would be no fighting going on. At the moment, most people were still chatting idly, exchanging ridiculous stories. In his time here, the bartender had heard far too many stories to believe anything he heard. Except, perhaps, that story. A group of men at a nearby table were arguing over it now.

"That's ridiculous. It's a good thing Vash the Stampede hasn't been sighted anywhere near here. I don't care how bored you are, Edwards, you don't want him here."

"Aw, h, he can't be that bad!"

"Want to bet? He's called the humanoid typhoon for a reason. Two cities have been wiped off the map by him. Vicious killer, a deadly shot and absolutely merciless. He'd rather shoot you than look at you. They say he isn't even human."

"You're full of it," another man snickered. "Don't you know anything? I was in a town where he was, one time, and I heard the whole story. He's no killer. It all started with a rumor, and then he got a price on his head. After that, trouble followed him everywhere, adding to the myth. But he's just an imbecile who gets lucky. Not some psychopath."

"Oh, really? How do you explain July, then, huh?"

"Idiot! Were you listening?"

"I've heard he slaughtered armies with his bare hands, man!"

"He's too weak to even kill a fly!"

"Why, I oughtta-"

"Neither of you," a calm voice slid into the conversation, cutting them both off, "know the first thing about Vash."

All the men at the table turned in surprise to see who had spoken. Usually the same guys hung around at the bar, and so they knew pretty much everyone. But not this guy. He was sitting back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs. Most strangely, behind him loomed a large cross, wrapped in greyish cloth.

Taking a drag on his cigarette, the stranger glanced at them cooly. None of them seemed willing to say anything, frozen by his gaze. Seeing they were silent, the stranger continued.

"Keep your dirty mouths off Vash, if you don't mind. He has enough trouble without people the likes of you spread rumors about him."

"Hey!" One of the men finally recognized him and was suddenly emboldened. "You're Wolfwood, that crazy guy who runs the orphanage at the edge of town!"

"Yeah!" another agreed. "It's that priest!"

"What is a priest doing in a bar?" a man sneered.

"Well, I had a drink and now I'm smoking," the priest answered amiably. "Better do it in a bar. Can't set a bad example for the kids or anything."

"I'll never understand you. Why would you do crazy stuff like that? Those kids are all better off dead."

Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Wolfwood glanced up at the man calmly. His expression shifted from pitying to sardonic.

"Whoops, I was about to admonish you for giving and taking life. I had forgotten that you were made God last month. Pardon me."

"Shut up!" The man roared, slamming his fist into the table. Wolfwood calmly blew smoke into his face, forcing him to back away.

"Hey," another one of the men interrupted, face smirking, "I got an idea. He runs that church all by himself, so that means he must have an awful lot of money. How much you want to bet we could sell that church land for? I'd bet he has a lot of money stashed away there."

Raising an eyebrow, Wolfwood dropped his cigarette to the floor, then crushed it with his boot. So impolite of them to interrupt the first decent smoke he'd had in a long time. But, ah well. It had been about done, anyway. The man who had spoken made a symbol with one hand.

Several clicks sounded as the group of men drew guns on the priest. The bartender heard the sound and froze, only his eyes moving to the situation. Not again. This town was mainly full of prospectors, out to make a quick buck and little else. He hadn't thought they would go this far, but apparently he had been wrong.

Multiple gun shots shattered the relatively calm atmosphere of the bar. All the men who had drawn on the priest were now wringing their hands in pain, their guns lying on the floor. Blowing smoke off the barrel of his weapon, Wolfwood put the gun away and got to his feet. Hefting the cross onto his back, he turned and walked from the bar. The patrons were stunned, to say the least.

"Wait a second!" one of the men yelled after the retreating figure. "Who are you? How do you know Vash the Stampede?"

The form of the priest stopped, and he looked back at them over his shoulder.

"Vash is none of your business, and my name is Nicholas D. Wolfwood." With a hint of a smile, he turned back and continued on, quickly vanishing into the shifting sands. Everyone in the bar remained still for a few moments, shocked at what had happened. Eventually the men sat back down, now very much subdued. No conversation started up again, and the guns were left on the floor. Sighing in relief, the bartender moved to polish another glass.

Smiling slightly to himself, Wolfwood continued walking toward his small church. The perpetual wind blew sand into his face, but he ignored it. Something had felt very good about going back there, firing the gun. But it was time to go back. That wasn't his place anymore.

Odd that Vash would come up. They hadn't brought up the legend about him for quite some time. But perhaps that was just as well. Wolfwood's smile broadened slightly as he remembered back...

Leaning backward in his chair, Vash sighed heavily. The back of the chair struck the wall behind him. Vash let his head fall back as well, thumping it against the wall. It didn't help. Sighing once more, he pushed the chair back into normal position. Putting his head into his hands, Vash breathed deeply trying to calm himself down.

You aren't wasting your time, he told himself. Things are fine. They'll turn out alright. You've been the hero. Everything's alright. At least, he told himself everything was alright. Too bad he couldn't get himself to believe it.

"Mr. Vash, sir?"

Jerking his head up instantly and identifying the woman in his doorway, Vash adopted his goofiest grin.

"Heya, Meryl!"

"What are you doing in here, anyway?" Meryl asked as she sank down into the chair opposite him.

"Oh, nuthin', really. Just thinkin' about things."

"What does someone like you think about?"

Vash slid his gaze over to look at her from the side, trying to read what she meant by that comment. It was open ended, leaving him somewhat confused. She was watching him honestly, though, dark eyes fixed on him, waiting for a response.

"Oh, what you'd expect a legendary outlaw to be thinking about. Killing. Guns. Money. Killing things with guns for money."

"You!" Giggling, Meryl gave him a light slap on the back of the head. "I know you don't think about things like that!"

"What do I think about?"

"That's what I asked you!"

"Then what do you think I'm thinking about?" Vash asked, his voice soft. His gaze was fixed out the window, looking into the clear blue sky. Meryl's eyes softened. It was always so strange when he got like this, like he was asking for something, and she had no idea what.

"I haven't the faintest idea," she answered eventually. "I can never figure you out."

"Aw, gee. I didn't think I was that complex!" Gone. The moment was over, whatever it had been had completely vanished.

"Yes you are!" she responded. "On one hand, you clown around and you're one of the goofiest guys I've ever met. But then sometimes you get all serious and you scare me half to death. Like when you were fighting the Nebraska family. What you did there was almost enough to make me believe you really are the legendary Vash the Stampede."

He said nothing, glancing down at her silently. Slowly Vash took off his glasses, glancing at his reflection in them, still completely mute. The silence slowly grew, and it was starting to make Meryl nervous. To end it, she forced herself to speak.

"Everyone is so afraid of you, yet you don't seem all that dangerous. But anyone who can do something like that can't be normal. I guess that's why you're legendary."

"Right," Vash intoned dully. It was over; no amount of argument could convince him anything was accomplished. "The legendary outlaw. The human typhoon."

Another silent moment passed, this one even more uncomfortable. Meryl got the terrible feeling that there were emotions going on inside him that she couldn't begin to understand, let alone sense. What was going on with him? Why was he acting so strange?

"So," Vash finally continued, glancing at her with completely serious eyes, "do you think I'm a clown who happened to be in the right place at the right time? A killer? Who do you think that I am?"

Why did this query feel like it was more important than a simple question? Meryl weighed her answer slowly, thinking about everything. Most of all, though, she remembered the expression on his face when he had saved the people who had tried to kill him just minutes earlier. A grim determination.

"You're Vash the Stampede."

"I guess I am." He said the words calmly enough, but Meryl saw his hand clench into a fist. What had she said wrong? It was too late, though, Vash had already put on his glasses. The yellow, mirrored lenses came up, and with them came an emotional wall. His chair scraped the floor as he stood up, and then Vash swept from the room.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

Vash didn't even turn back, moving on, ignoring her completely. Storming to the front porch, he blew past Milly, who glanced up in surprise.

"Hey, Mr. Vash the Stampede!"

Slowly he stopped, turning just slightly to glance at her over his shoulder. Meryl came out the front door a second later, standing beside Milly. There were only a few feet between them, but there was a gulf in that space a mile wide. For a moment his blue stare just glanced back at them, then he pushed his glasses up, eclipsing his eyes.

"Goodbye."

Seconds later, all that remained on the street was sand, blowing past in the wind. The biting, bitter wind.

The office could not possibly have been more different than the blowing sands of the planet around it. It was a small office, and of the lowest level, the type given to clerical workers. That was all they had to offer, really. A woman sitting at the desk worked industriously, clad in the required tight fitting dresses of the office.

Shuffling a massive stack of papers aside, Marianne begin scribbling out another form. Busywork. That was all it was. Ridiculous busywork. It had been a very long time since she had been in an office position, and now it was obvious to her why. She hated this. Hated this with a passion.

Finishing the form, Marianna set it aside, only to pull up another. There would always be more. The level of bureaucracy was truly ridiculous. Almost enough to make her sick, really. How could perfectly good agents be stuck in offices filling out papers when there was so much wrong in the world? A deep part of her longed to go back out in a sheriff position again: to actually be in on the action and accomplishing something.

But no, she was stuck in here with the paperwork and a very annoying dress; by what right the Police Department could enforce a dress code was beyond her. Nonetheless, she was very interested in keeping her job. If she didn't keep doing this, she'd never get a chance to help people again.

Those had been the days; back when she was sheriff, before the Police Department had formed and slowly absorbed the cities into its system. Not that it really made everything that much safer, but it was nice to be able to call for backup, occasionally.

With it had come bureaucracy, and loads of it. How they had chosen her to be stuck here was another thing she had no clue about. The person replacing her was merely average, nothing to write home about. At least her work in that town had mostly cleaned it up, leaving her successor an easy job.

Looking back, Marianne decided those were probably the best days of her life. There had been excitement, then. The instant excitement came up, she immediately thought back to that one case. It had been the last she had ever worked on, and her most difficult. She had been forced to go undercover to investigate rumors that the water supply was being manipulated. Though the man controlling the water had seemed nice enough, she'd had her suspicions about him from the beginning. And, as usual, her intuition had been right; he had been a betraying criminal who had nearly killed her.

Except that he had been there. Shaking her head, Marianne sent golden locks shimmering down her back. She had never even learned his name. In a guise similar to her own, he'd pretended to be the legendary Vash the Stampede. At first, she'd thought he was a complete idiot. Most of the time, he seemed to be.

But when push had come to shove, and they'd both been betrayed, she'd seen something different in him. Somehow, he had changed, stripping the idiocy from him as if it were just a garment. Most amazingly, he'd dodged bullets. That one still amazed her, even thinking about it now. Sure, she understood the theory. He watched where the gun was being aimed just before the shot was fired and moved out of the way. Still... no one should have been able to do that.

More impressively, he'd successfully and effectively neutralized the criminal in charge of the water scam without even causing him much bodily harm. She knew that he could probably use the gun at his side, but he hadn't even tried. In had she been in his position, Marianne knew that she would have shot him in an instant, had it been necessary. Then again, that was what made him so amazing.

Starting slightly, Marianne glanced down at her desk. The same form was sitting in front of her. She hadn't done a thing for at least a few minutes. Did I really reminisce that much? she wondered. I can't believe I'm so unfocused.

Then again, if there was anyone who could unfocus her, it was him. After nearly singlehandedly solving the problem, he'd left with little talk, not even leaving her with his name. In many ways, she hoped that he was still doing well. Undoubtedly, however, anyone with his skills was doing fine. That doesn't mean I don't miss him...

"Marianne?" Her name was accompanied by a soft rapping on her door. Unconsciously, her hand moved to where her gun should have been, but she remembered herself and where she was. Besides, the gun wasn't there; it was against Police Department policy. It was just her boss, anyway.

"Come in, Mr. Rowans," she responded as politeness dictated. He sidled in a second later, dropping into the chair on the other side of her desk. Even sitting in front of her desk, Mr. Rowans managed to convey the feeling that he was behind it, looking down at her. The man had a lot of personal charisma, no doubt about that. That was probably why he was in charge of the entire Police Department for this sector. His immaculate gray suit matched him perfectly: cold and business-like.

"How are you doing, Marianne?" he asked casually. He always addressed her by her first name, something that annoyed her to no end. Normally she went by it, of course, but something about the way he said it drove her insane. Somehow, he managed to put more into it than just being on a casual first-name basis.

"Fine."

"Good." Of course, he had never actually cared in the first place. Office small talk, the interest all bosses were required to pretend to show in their employees. So, she'd given him a stock answer, and that was all he had asked for. "I'm going to make this simple. Pack your bags."

"What?" Despite herself, Marianne rose from her desk. No! She couldn't possibly leave the police force! This was all she had ever wanted to do...

"Calm down." Mr. Rowans' voice practically oozed with savoir faire. There was a slight smirk on his face that suggested he very much enjoyed making her upset. "You aren't being asked to give up your badge. I just have a job for you to do."

Narrowing her eyes, Marianne briefly considered refusing to answer because of his intended misunderstanding. It wasn't right for him to be so cruel just for his own amusement. But the chance of getting a real job again was too tempting to pass up, or to risk making him angry.

"I have an actual assignment?"

"Yup. And a dangerous one." Mr. Rowans pulled a cigar from his pocket, but didn't light it; merely holding it between his fingers instead. "We have information on a caravan that goes between cities carrying cargo. Illegal cargo. We want you to find out if this is true and stop them if it is."

"What kind of cargo?" Instantly her mind snapped into detective mode, as she began running over facts.

"Slaves."

"Which cities?"

"Now calm down." Mr. Rowans raised both his hands as if to ward her off. "I'll give you the official report with all the details you could want in a few hours. But we want you ready to go by tonight."

"Yes, sir!"

With a startling amount of speed, Marianne was out the door. Left alone in the office, Mr. Rowans glanced around, then nodded slowly. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he lit up and began taking slow drags on the cigar.

"A slave caravan?" a voice asked him from behind. Mr. Rowans didn't bother turning, knowing who it was. Standing in the darkest corner of the room were four figures, faces obscured by the shadows.

"What of it?" Mr. Rowans asked calmly.

"Are you sure it will be enough? Marianne is a capable agent."

"I didn't choose it because of the difficulty of the mission," Mr. Rowan told him. He took a slow drag of the cigar and let the thick smoke float around him, giving no further explanation.

"Why, then?" another of the figures asked, his voice silky smooth.

"There are rumors about this slave caravan, but ones that have been highly substantiated. Rumors that make this entire business worthwhile."

"They are?"

Mr. Rowans stood up from the chair, glancing at the wall for a moment. Turning around, he smiled a thin-lipped smile into the shadowy corner.

"Vash the Stampede will be there."

"I can't believe he's gone," Meryl said again, for the hundredth time that night.

"Gee, Meryl, you say that an awful lot!" Milly responded cheerfully. "It's almost like you miss him or something."

"Of course not! It's my job, I'm required to follow him!"

"Then why aren't we following him?"

The innocent question struck a nerve with Meryl. Holding her anger in check, she realized the true reason the question got to her.

"When he left, he seemed so serious. He really doesn't want us following him." There. She had said it.

"Yeah, Mr. Vash was really scary. At first he seemed really goofy, but I guess he really is the human typhoon Vash the Stampede." Despite the bleak nature of her statement, Milly grinned for no apparent reason. Sighing, Meryl acknowledged that Milly was more truthful with herself than Meryl'd ever be. The real reason she didn't want to follow was that she was afraid. Afraid of what she had seen in his eyes...

A tremendous roar shook the house, startling both of them.

"What was that?" Milly asked, glancing about frantically. They received their answer in a rather grim way the next second when their wall collapsed. A gigantic fist reached inside, grabbing both of them and lifting them helpless from the building. Meryl made an effort to get the Derringers inside her coat, but the gigantic fingers prevented her from moving her arms from her sides.

There was only one person this big, Meryl knew. It had to be part of the Nebraska family. Her fears were confirmed a second later when the fist raised them up to the level of the gigantic son of the Nebraska family. In a pocket on his vest sat the chortling father of the family. He looked much the worse for the wear, but with his monocle on he was acting the same as ever.

"Hey, didn't you get put in prison?" Milly asked. The old man merely laughed, a long, cackling noise that made both of them wince.

"No prison can hold us for long! Never fear, I won't destroy this precious little town... yet. All I care about is finishing off that idiot, Vash the Stampede!"

"You sound like you don't like him very much," Milly stated, completely unobservant. Had she been able, Meryl would have slapped herself on the forehead.

"Fool! Everything was about to be perfect, and then Vash the Stampede had to show up! He stopped my killing spree and hurt my son! For that, Vash the Stampeded must die!"

"You captured us as a way of getting to him, didn't you?" Meryl suddenly realized.

"Oh! You're absolutely brilliant for figuring that out!" With each word the insane doctor practically spat. "Of course I am! I made a trail of destruction to here, one he's sure to follow! He knows what I'm after and he'll be here!"

"Well I'm afraid you've made a mistake!" Meryl crowed, oddly joyful. "He left us! He doesn't care anymore!"

"What? Vash the Stampede isn't here?" For a moment Mr. Nebraska was silent, then he began chuckling. "Figures that the d hypocrite would discard you soon enough. Well then, if he isn't going to come to save you, I suppose there's no reason to keep you alive, is there?"

Meryl gasped audibly, realizing what she might have done. What had possessed her to say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Hey, it's him!" Milly exclaimed cheerfully, brightening in an instant. Glancing down where she was looking, Meryl's eyes were instantly drawn to the figure in red, standing in the street opposite the hulking Nebraska member.

"Vash the Stampede is here?" Mr. Nebraska hissed, struggling to make his son move so he could look in that direction. Milly and Meryl were unceremoniously dumped on the ground. Meryl noticed grimly, however, that they were still easily within range of the deadly fist of the Nebraska son.

A wind whipped through the street, curling Vash's long coat to the side. Making it to her feet, Meryl got a closer look at him. He was standing erect, more serious than she had ever seen him. His tinted lenses were on, keeping his eyes invisible. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about him had changed, as if all his serious moments were wrapped into one.

"So, Vash the Stampede decided to come, did he?" Mr. Nebraska sneered. "I would have thought the humanoid typhoon wouldn't care about anyone else. Isn't that right, Vash the Stampede?" As before, he drug out Vash's name and title to the point of sounding almost lewd.

"Let both of them go," Vash stated, not moving from his position. His voice held a serious quality that had been completely lacking before. For a second, the father of the Nebraska family was taken aback; then his smug look returned.

"Oh, is Vash the Stampede angry with me? Are you going to threaten me or something? What are you going to do, Vash the St-"

"Shut up!" Vash yelled, cutting him off entirely. Everyone, excepting the eldest Nebraska son, who didn't get it, was taken aback. Since when had Vash ever yelled at anyone?

"Did I strike a nerve?" Mr. Nebraska asked, a gigantic grin on his face. "What are you going to do, Vash the-"

His words were cut off abruptly by the sound of a gunshot. More accurately, two shots fired so close together they sounded as one. Roaring in pain, the gigantic monster fell back, cracking the street beneath him where he fell. Meryl realized slowly that only one bullet had struck the monster, and the other had been aimed at the father of the Nebraska family. A long second passed, and then his body fell from the pocket he had been carried in.

Mouth dropping open with shock, Meryl glanced back in Vash's direction. He had killed someone? Never had she seen him even fire his gun with malicious intent in mind. And now he'd killed them, as simply as that. His expression was completely blank, whatever anger that had been there was gone. Why had he been so angry?

Turning, Vash began to stride away, returning his gun to its holster.

"Wait!" Meryl cried after him. Again, as before, he paused, waiting for what she would say. "Why did you help us?"

"I want to leave you completely. No traces of my life must interfere with yours. Therefore I had to protect you and wipe out this trace. Your days of being concerned with my affairs are over." He paused for a moment, still not looking in their direction. "Goodbye."

For a few minutes Meryl didn't move, kneeling on the ground, tears leaking from her eyes. Her head came up and her eyes locked onto the retreating figure in the distance. Milly blinked, surprised at her expression.

"What are we going to do now, Meryl?"

"We follow him."


	2. Experiment Terminus

I apologize for the somewhat long wait. I've written the entire story, but there are some procedural things that are absorbing time. Some good friends of mine were pretty sick as well. Hopefully, after this I should be able to update weekly, as usual. Which means this won't go very long, as there aren't that many chapters.

  
  


Anyway, if you've been annoyed because you have no idea what's going on, fear not. This chapter gets you more or less in the know. For that matter, it marks a significant shift in the story, and the (hopefully) graceful exits of several characters. Personally, I rank this chapter fairly high compared to the others. But I digress.

  
  


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Chapter 2: Experiment Terminus

  
  


Slipping into the tent, Marianne carefully scanned the area around her. Rough place, obviously, but nothing too dangerous. No one was likely to attack anyone else, at least not in the open. Therefore it was an excellent place to begin her investigation.

Just the change of clothing made her feel infinitely better. Finally out of the office, she returned to her loose fitting red outfit. Much better suited for combat. Of course, it wouldn't be wise to flash her sheriff's badge around, so that was well concealed. Meanwhile, she felt completely ready for anything that could stand in her way.

This tent served as a makeshift bar for the caravan, she had quickly learned. It had taken her a day to travel here, but she had used that time to get briefed on all information regarding the case. Apparently there were some high level outlaws here, though they were keeping a low profile. If they didn't get in her way, they weren't her problem, at least not on this assignment.

Sitting down at a table, Marianne ordered a generic drink and began scanning the bar. Surely someone here had important information. Of course, it was a matter of being able to pull it off without drawing attention to herself. Perhaps later, when everyone was drunker. She wasn't exactly sure what sort of heat the leaders of this caravan were packing, but she didn't want to find out later.

"So, what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Startled, Marianne turned to see who had spoken. A well dressed man in a dark suit slipped into the seat next to her. The first thing she noticed about him was the giant cross he carried on his back and the cross cufflinks. A man of the cloth, here? With a pick up line, no less?

"Perhaps I should rephrase that," he told her, voice dropping dangerously low. "What's a cop like you doing in a place like this?"

"What?" How could he possibly have known? This was no ordinary priest, obviously.

"Quiet," he told her. "I trust you don't want to draw attention to yourself."

"Am I really that obvious?"

"No." The priest pulled an already used cigarette from his pocket and relit it. "But I'm good with this sort of thing."

"Who are you?"

"Name's Nicholas. Nicholas Wolfwood. Pleased to meet you." He shifted his cigarette to his other hand and extended it to shake with her. She did so reluctantly. His grip was dry and firm, the grip of an honest man, not a criminal. Then again, should she expect less from a priest? Of course, in a quick glance she was relatively certain he was carrying a concealed gun. This guy was a strange case, in every sense of the word.

"I'm Marianne."

"I see. With the Police Department?" His voice was soft, audible only to her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she worried about what other people would think, but at the moment she was too focused. Obviously, this guy knew something. And he was apparently uninterested in blowing her cover.

"Yeah."

"Whatever for?"

"Slave trade."

"Ah." Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Wolfwood paused for a moment. Then he casually gestured toward a young girl dancing on the impromptu stage that had been set up in the bar. "If what you say is true, I'm pretty sure she's a slave. I have no information myself, mind you, but I've been suspicious for a while."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Hey, that's my job, right?" For a moment he grinned, but his face became deadly serious the next second. "You do realize that these people live off the slave trade, right? Without it they'll have no way to survive."

"They'll have to find one."

"That's cold hearted."

"I'll make sure they get to a safe location where they can try to find a new way of life."

"I see. Perhaps." Puffing on his cigarette, Wolfwood sat in silence for a few moments. Marianne silently thanked her luck. What were the chances she'd run into him here?

"Thanks, really."

"Not a problem. You remind me of someone I knew once. He'd be the sort to try and save both sides. Really nice fellow, though he had a mean gun arm." At this Wolfwood smiled as though something was somewhat humorous. Marianne barely noticed, instead thinking of his description. It sounded so much like him...

"He didn't by any chance have blond hair and wear a long red coat, did he?"

Instantly Wolfwood's eyes narrowed. What did she know about Vash? This alone gave him an ominous feeling. Why would a sheriff speak about an outlaw that way? Unless she really didn't know it was him.

"As a matter of fact, yes," Wolfwood answered cautiously. He was treading a fine line here. The mention of Vash's name might cause problems, and he still had no idea what was going on. Idly he wondered what the chances were that she'd arrest him if she knew. "Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

"Oh, I just met him a long time ago." Marianne smiled, somewhat dreamily. Wolfwood fought the urge to raise an eyebrow. He'd seen that starry-eyed look before. Well, Vash, he thought, you apparently leave a legacy behind you. At least this answered his initial question. Assuming she wasn't just doing a very good acting job.

"How'd that happen?" Wolfwood asked her. It never hurt to make sure.

"What about you?"

"I asked first!"

"I'm the police officer!"

Chuckling slightly, Wolfwood shook his head. Undoubtedly, they weren't being cautious enough. But at the level of a barest whisper, the chances of their conversation being overheard were slim indeed. Of course, this probably looked really bad, especially for a priest. It didn't matter, he'd lived through worse.

"Fine. He ran into me in the desert, saved my hide. We ended up working together to save some kid. He's a great guy, really. Amazing shot with a gun, when he's only fighting machines. Doesn't like to kill, though."

"Yeah, I got that impression. Really nice guy."

"Don't dodge my question. It's your turn."

"Oh, right. I was sheriff in a town, you know, before the Police Department and all that. There was a pretty bad situation, with a man exploiting the water supply to control the town. He and I ended up in the same place coincidentally. I thought he was an absolute idiot at first, and he really annoyed me. But now I think that was just an act, just like I was acting my own part. When it came down to business, he was pretty serious. And tough."

"That's him alright." Despite himself, Wolfwood felt a small smile beginning to creep on his face. He shouldn't, but he really liked Vash.

Suddenly Marianne thought of something. Maybe she could put an issue that had long been in her mind to rest. "Do you know his name?"

There was a long pause as Wolfwood considered his answer carefully. To hide the fact that he was struggling to pull together a response, he dropped his cigarette butt to the floor and ground it out with his foot. Lord, forgive me...

"Sorry, haven't the faintest idea. He likes to be enigmatic, is my guess."

"That's a shame." She honestly looked sad. Perhaps he was too trusting, but Wolfwood decided that she honestly was stricken with him. He understood how that could happen, though it was extremely ironic that it was a police officer.

"Don't you have a job to do or something?" he asked. She nodded, smile fading from her face.

"Right. I might see you again. I'll see what I can find out."

"Go with the grace of God."

With that she slipped away, leaving Wolfwood alone at the table. Leaning back, he stayed silent for a moment, then flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink. No more serious business for tonight.

"Hey, it's Wolfwood!" a voice called, from all the way across the bar. For a second Wolfwood couldn't place it, though the tone nagged at his memory. Just before he fixed his gaze on the frantically waving figure, however, he remembered. Milly? She was one of the two insurance agents who had been following Vash around... did that mean the man himself was here?

"Yo," he said casually, gesturing for them to come. Meryl was there too, on the opposite side of a less than enthusiastic looking Vash. Wolfwood instantly realized they'd managed to drag him along one way or another. Still, he seemed to be in a bad mood, or at least more upset than normal. That didn't seem natural for Vash at all. The three of them sat down at the same table Wolfwood occupied.

"Hello, Mr. Wolfwood," Meryl greeted him politely. Wolfwood just nodded to her.

"Hey, Vash. Haven't seen you in a long time." The man in question took off his glasses to nod to Wolfwood, slipping them into a pocket of his jacket.

"Ssh!" Meryl glared at him. "If everyone in this camp knew that Vash the Stampede was here, there'd be pandemonium! Don't mention his name!" Vash shot her an annoyed look, but she wasn't turned in his direction and missed it.

"Whatever." Wolfwood shrugged. What was that look supposed to mean? "How's it going?"

"Actually, we shouldn't discuss it here," Meryl said nervous. "Maybe we should go back."

"Why is that, Meryl?" Milly asked innocently. Meryl gestured slightly in the direction of a few tables looking in their direction.

"We draw attention, and if they recognize who Vash is..."

"Quite right," Wolfwood interrupted. "Do you guys have another tent or something?"

"No, we just rented a room in the nearby city until the caravan moves on. But it's probably safer than here."

"Sure. Let's go." Pushing back his chair, Wolfwood drank his glass dry. Paying his tab quickly, he followed them from the tent. Hefting his cross onto his shoulder, Wolfwood followed them, a single question leaving his mind no rest: what was wrong with Vash?

  
  


"I'm through with this," Vash said simply.

"Can you believe it?" Meryl asked Wolfwood, quite rhetorically. "Vash wants to just up and leave, and never see us again? What about our jobs?"

"Yeah!" Milly agreed enthusiastically, coming up behind them. The other three were sitting at a table in the small room they had rented. It was small for four people, but Wolfwood had his own accommodations. For now, it was a good place to meet. Setting down a bottle and four glasses in front of Vash, Milly beamed at him. "Just be friendly and have a drink with us, will you, Mr. Vash the Stampede?"

"...fine." Grabbing the bottle with what Wolfwood judged to be just a bit too much force, Vash poured the wine into each of the four glasses. Taking his, Wolfwood glanced at it and swirled it in his glass, like a proper connoisseur. Theatrically he put the glass to his lips and drank.

"Is it good, Mr. Priest?" Milly asked. He nodded.

"Nice vintage."

"Good!" Milly promptly grabbed her glass and drained it dry. With a slight roll of the eyes, Meryl took hers at a more relaxed pace. Meanwhile, Vash just toyed with his glass, completely uninterested. As weird as he was acting, this didn't surprise Meryl one bit. At least he had taken a glass. Small steps.

"So now, what's the trouble?" Wolfwood asked them. Meryl took a sip from her glass and a few moments to clear her thoughts.

"I don't understand what's wrong with you," she said, directing her comment in Vash's direction. "If you're really innocent, and not the legendary Vash the Stampede, then why does it matter if we follow you?"

"Do I have to explain my reasons to you?" Vash asked, voice cold. "I'm not accountable to you. Go back to your superiors and tell them that the human typhoon got away from you."

"I can't do that! It wouldn't be true! Besides, I think that if I got the proper evidence, I could show them that Vash the Stampede isn't really all that bad."

"You could, could you?"

"Both of you, stop bickering," Wolfwood interjected. Something was definitely weird about Vash; he wasn't acting as happy and naive as usual. Whatever it was, it escaped Wolfwood, and he resolved not to bother himself about it for now. Narrowing his eyes, he glanced back and forth at the two of them.

"I feel kind of funny," Milly suddenly commented, smiling happily. "It's not that late, but I'm feeling a bit tired. That's odd."

"Me too," Meryl gave a huge yawn. "This argument isn't over. I'm not sleeping until I make you agree with m..." her words trailed off as she slumped to the table.

"You're silly," Milly told her, a grin on her face. Seconds after, she also fell to the table. Vash merely glanced down at both of them, and his gaze slid up to Wolfwood. There was a very long moment of silence, in which neither of them spoke. Pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, Wolfwood casually lit it, then held it in his mouth, glancing at Vash with hooded eyes.

"You didn't kill them, did you?" he asked, voice deadly serious. Vash shook his head.

"It would have been pointless. Why aren't you asleep?"

"Call me paranoid, I guess. I didn't take a sip of that wine. Pretty slick, by the way, I didn't even see you do it."

"Thanks, I guess." Pulling his glasses from his pocket, Vash put them on. He left them resting on the end of his nose, however, so he could still look Wolfwood in the eyes. "Are you going to try to stop me?"

"Of course not. It's your life, and I'm not the type to meddle."

"Good." Vash began to get up from his seat, Wolfwood extended a hand in his way.

"Wait a second. I'm gonna let you go and all, but do me a favor and explain a few things to me. What exactly is going on here?"

Returning to his seat, Vash glanced at Wolfwood. For a moment he paused, as if considering, then nodded slowly. "I don't want to waste time. What do you want to know?"

"Nothing much. But you look like you have a weight on your back, man, what is it?"

"Are you going to make me pay for a confessional?"

Smirking, Wolfwood shook his head. "Just talk to me. As a person, not a priest."

"Good." Vash was silent a second longer. "What's my name?"

"Vash."

A slight smile appeared on Vash's features. It wasn't his usual grin, just the barest trace of a smile. Somehow, Wolfwood felt that he really wouldn't like it if that smile was aimed maliciously at him. Vash seemed like a different person than before. Already he'd drugged two other people. Why Vash was smiling, Wolfwood had no idea.

"I have to ask you a question."

"Anything," Vash offered.

"I want to know how much you actually did. I've always thought you weren't responsible for that whole July City thing. But what's the truth?"

Immediately Vash's expression became grim. "It wasn't my fault. But I was the one who did it."

"So you didn't destroy a city of people just for kicks?"

"What would have been the point?" Vash asked him. Wolfwood nodded.

"But you've had bounty hunters on your tail ever since. You'd think by now they'd get the fact that you aren't really a dangerous killer and give up. But there's still a massive legend about you. I mean, everyone knows about Vash the St-"

Vash's fist hit the table hard, ending Wolfwood's sentence abruptly. The priest's cigarette hung loosely in his mouth, his expression slack with shock. That was completely unlike Vash. Slowly, things began to come together for him.

"Tell me about it," Wolfwood asked understandingly. Vash nodded in response, his eyes had calmed down once more. Still, it was a cold, calculating calm. Completely unlike the Vash he knew. Or thought he knew.

"Ever since then, everyone has called me the humanoid typhoon. Or the localized disaster. Or the $$60 billion man. Or Vash the Stampede. That isn't my name."

Wolfwood's suspicions came together for certain. He nodded slowly, a sad smile gracing his features. So that was what it was.

"It's always like that, isn't it? Everyone calls you Vash the Stampede. They acknowledge the legend, nothing more."

"Why can't someone just call me Vash?" he asked, voice almost desperate, "Every time anyone says my name, there's always something tacked on after it. For once, I'd like to hear nothing after my name. Just nothing. Which is why I have to thank you, Wolfwood."

"Sure thing." Taking a drag on his cigarette, Wolfwood carefully considered the new information he had been given. So that was the way things were. It explained a lot. He snuffed the cigarette, waiting for Vash to continue.

"I thought that if people didn't feel threatened by me, they might call me by my name. Which is why I went to great lengths to stay with the two of them. They were going to follow me anyway. I did everything I could to seem unthreatening. I acted like an idiot, I routinely made a fool of myself, I tried to be as human as possible, I adopted a completely pacifist viewpoint. Do you know what? It didn't matter. I'll always be Vash the Stampede to them. Now I'm just a tame legend."

"So I take it you aren't exactly tame?"

"July City wasn't my fault," Vash told him, "but other things are."

Both of them remained in silence for a moment longer. Then Vash pushed his reflective glasses back up, hiding his eyes from view. In the same movement, he rose from his chair, heading to the door. Before he could make his exit, however, Wolfwood stopped him.

"Wait a sec. Is the bottle drugged?"

"Only the glasses."

"Good." Wolfwood grabbed the bottle and took a deep swig of it. "What do you know, I didn't lie. It is a good vintage."

"Goodbye, Wolfwood," Vash said, his hand on the doorknob. Putting a foot up on the table, Wolfwood smiled after him.

"I like you, Vash, I really do. I wish you luck."

"Thanks." Then he was gone, vanishing out the door. Wolfwood found himself alone with the remainder of the bottle of wine, the only sound around him Milly's faint snoring.

  
  


The wind picked up again, blowing the clothes of the priest in every direction. He ignored it completely, trudging across the desert, cross over his shoulder. Wolfwood stopped for a moment, dropping his cigarette to the ground. Perhaps he should cut back on those.

By this point he was far from the city. He knew where he was, but it wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't. The old life didn't matter.

"D*** you, Legato!" he shouted to the empty air. "And go to h***, Chapel! I'm a minister, so that probably means something!" The words faded into the wind.

Feeling better after his outburst, Wolfwood moved on. That was all over. Time for a fresh start. Now he would have to find a place where they couldn't find him, where he could do something worthwhile. Maybe he could start another orphanage. A slow smile began to creep on his face: he had just the place.

Soon the billowing sands swallowed up the retreating form of the priest.

The world appeared slowly, coming up from the darkness. Milly sat up in bed, glancing around her. For a few seconds the world spun violently, making her fear that she would be sick. Shaking her head violently to clear it, Milly glanced about her cheerfully.

"Wow, I feel really funny! We must have gotten really drunk last night!"

"No." Glancing about for the source of the voice, Milly eventually focused on a darker corner of the room. Meryl was sitting at a small table, her head in her arms.

"Morning, Meryl!" Milly greeted her cheerily, hopping out of bed. There was no reply from Meryl, who didn't move. "What's wrong?" Milly asked, the realization finally breaking through to her that something wasn't right.

"He's gone."

"What?" Glancing about, Milly found that Vash and Wolfwood were nowhere to be seen. "That's funny. Weren't they here last night before we got drunk and passed out?"

"We weren't drunk, Milly." Meryl's voice was muffled by the table, but it was obviously annoyed, and perhaps a bit bitter. "We were drugged. And then he left."

"That's alright, we'll just follow the caravan, then! He said he was going there!"

"Milly... what time is it?"

"I have no idea," she responded, as buoyant as ever. "What time is it?" 

"A bit past noon. They're gone. The caravan is far out of sight, and I have no idea which way they were going. He got away this time."

"Oh." For a few moments Milly was crestfallen, slowly processing what had been told her. Meryl made no movement during this time, saying nothing. Eventually Milly brightened again. "That's alright! We're just going to follow him again, right?"

Meryl's only response was to shove something in Milly's direction. A bit confused, Milly picked up the sheet of paper, reading the contents carefully.

Due to recent circumstances, the corporation has determined that all damages caused by the individual known as Vash the Stampede are no longer our responsibility. As such, monitoring of this individual and damage prevention in related issues are no longer necessary. Both agents assigned to aforementioned job are required to return to headquarters within three days, with a full report completed.

"What does that mean, Meryl?" Milly asked, not wanting to acknowledge the truth. Brushing dark hair from her eyes, Meryl glanced up at her partner sadly, eyes glistening.

"It means it's over, Milly. It's over."


	3. Transformation

I fear this chapter will not be exactly perfect, grammatically. However, I would be willing to wager that most of you care less about comma splices and more about reading something. At this point, I will continue to update regularly, though I will fix previous chapters at a later date. Reviews are appreciated.

  
  


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Chapter 3: Transformation

  
  


"When are we going to escape?" A female voice asked cautiously.

"Soon." A male voice answered.

"You've been saying that for so long..."

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. But it's difficult to plan for this sort of thing. You can't just run away from the caravan."

The two figures spoke in hushed voices, whispering to one another. Both of them were wrapped in large greyish cloaks that obscured their identities completely. Despite this precaution, they were still in the shadows between tents, voices barely audible. They'd met many times before, but it grew more and more dangerous each time as others began to suspect.

"It just seems to take so long..."

"Hush. We'll leave tomorrow night. Everything should be ready by then."

"We leave tomorrow?" There was just a hint of hope.

"Yes. Tomorrow."

"No." A third voice broke into the conversation, silencing them both. Starting in surprise, both of them began to bolt for the entrance, only to find their way blocked by a similarly cloaked figure. Trapped. "Ssh," the figure went on, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who are you?" the young man asked. Slipping into the shadows with them, the third figure silenced them with a gestured.

"Do not speak, just listen. I know the cargo this caravan is taking, and I want to stop them too. But if you go now, even if you escape them, you'll die in the desert. Wait until you get into the city, then both of you can make your escape. Besides, if you go now, this caravan will no longer be able to survive."

"You can't understand what it's like," the young woman gasped. "I have to get away!"

"Only if you want to die." The figure moved back from the shadows, glancing away from them. "Consider what I have to say. I could help you."

"We don't need your help," the boy bit back. "But fine, we'll wait until the city."

"Good." Without another word, the other figure was gone. The two convened between tents for a while longer, but eventually decided that waiting was the best choice. In silence they departed, going their separate ways.

  
  


Pushing back the large grey hood, Marianne freed her hair from the confines of the cloak and continued on. These massive cloaks were bulky and annoying, but they worked wonders for hiding one's identity. As soon as she got back to her makeshift residence within the caravan, however, she could change back into her other clothing.

It was fortunate those two kids had listened to her as well as they had. In their place, she never would have taken any advice from mysterious strangers. But she had banked on the guess that they were a bit naive, and it had paid off. Hopefully they'd wait to make their escape until the city, and then all could go well. Plus, as soon as they were in the city, she had a better chance of the proper authorities prosecuting the caravan leaders.

Stopping by her tent long enough to switch to her normal clothing, Marianne went back out into the night air. Where to go now? After a few days in the camp, she already had all the information she could possibly need to prosecute the leaders, thanks to the help of that priest. In fact, everything had gone wonderfully. Hopefully, after such a successful mission, her boss would let her go on another. Here she could let the night wind rustle through her hair, no longer be in such a confining space, actually be doing something.

But now there was little to do. Rarely had she experienced the feeling of having extra time to spend. Really, there was nothing in the entire camp- except of course the bar, but what was the point of going there? It seemed that all the men just went there at night to get drunk.

She veered in that direction anyway. What else was she going to do tonight? Though it changed location from stop to stop, the bar of the caravan was always obvious. It was the only tent that still glowed with activity, and faint bursts of drunken song could be heard from within.

Just a she reached the entrance to the tent, however, someone else was attempting to come out. Marianne stepped aside, intending to let them pass, then did a double take. The man walking from the tent was none other than that guy she had met so long ago! What was he doing here?

"Hey... it's you," she said awkwardly. He glanced down at her over his reflective glasses for a moment, then his eyes focused in recognition.

"Hello, Marianne." He even remembered her name!

"What are you doing around here?"

"Just following the caravan. What about you? Or would it not be wise to talk about that here?"

Brushing aside a curl of her hair subconsciously, Marianne shook her head. Abruptly she turned, walking away, hoping that he would take the hint. Apparently he did, as he moved in the opposite direction as if he had nothing more to say.

Without another word, Marianne made her way back to her small tent. By this point, she had a feeling that some of the men in camp were suspicious of her. She couldn't have any more conversations in the bar, just to make sure. With any luck, he would understand what she had intended. It was only a short way across camp; Marianne quickly reached her tent and slipped inside.

Less than ten seconds later, a tall form slunk around the side of the tent, darting inside. Vash nodded to her, then pushed his glasses up to cover his eyes. It was a small tent, but with both of them sitting it was big enough.

"So why are you here?" he asked. His voice had changed, Marianne noticed; it was brisk, cold and far, far more serious. She had suspected his actions before had been a front, but this was more than she had suspected.

"The people in charge of this caravan are shipping slaves from city to city. The Police Department wants me to put a stop to it."

"I see." Vash folded his arms. "I take it you joined the Police Department?"

"I didn't have a lot of choice," Marianne admitted. "They kind of just appeared in my town. If I hadn't agreed to work with them they probably would have kicked me out. As it is, this is the first real operation they've let me on."

"This Police Department..." Vash shook his head, "I'm not too sure about it."

"Really?" she asked, wondering if his thoughts were similar to hers. "Why?"

They continued talking late into the night, discussing the current situation of the planet. It was the best conversation Marianne had carried in a long time, and it was actually very refreshing. He had obviously changed, the guy she had known would have been clueless about all of this. The change was almost nice...

Yet something was incredibly different. While he discussed everything on a much higher level than before, he was emotionally cold, as if there was an impenetrable cocoon around him. It remained up in the entire conversation, and she saw that his hand was never very far from his gun. Did he not trust her?

One incident from the first time they had met resurfaced, and somewhat painfully. He'd taken her by the shoulders and asked her to marry him. Though she'd gotten out of the situation rather easily, it'd made her very uncomfortable. Where was that now? Had that all been part of his act? If so, he was rather thorough. Some small part of her had hoped...

But that was obviously nothing more than a fantasy. This person was completely different than the one she had known well. He was emotionally cold, and seemed very focused. While she had known he was skilled before, this version of him seemed... dangerous. She couldn't imagine this man asking anyone to marry him. Overall, though, she liked the change: he wasn't an idiot fawning over her.

"It's late," Vash said eventually, rising to his feet and ducking out of the tent. He stayed by the opening for a moment. "Are you staying with the caravan long?"

"At least until they get to the city."

"I'll see you later then." His cloak swirled behind him as he vanished into the night. Within seconds he had melted away as if he had never been there. Lying down on her bunk, Marianne turned off the light and prepared to sleep.

It wasn't until she was almost drifting off that she remembered she still didn't know his name.

  
  


Glancing right and left, the young man surveyed the area before him. It was a clean shot to the other side, but part of the area was well lit. He needed speed more than stealth, so he opted to run straight through. Taking a deep breath, he moved from around the corner and darted from the safety of his hiding space to the opposite side.

Ducking behind a few trash cans, he stayed motionless for a moment before moving on. It would have been a simple matter to flee the caravan into the city. But he wasn't out to just escape. He had to save her while he was at it. 

Fingering the key in his jacket just to make sure it was there, he peered around the next corner to make sure it was clear. Good. Running again, he darted into the large gaping door of the metallic trailer that was a part of the caravan. The slaves were kept here. Of course, all that mattered to him was rescuing her.

Making his way inside past the dimly lit cells, he quickly found the one containing the slave that was so precious to him. Hearing his movements, she came up to the bars, looking at him with those big, green eyes he loved so much.

"Who's there?" a voice boomed from down the corridor. Both of them froze, realizing there were guards within the trailer. Cursing violently, the young man jammed his key into the lock, opening the door as quickly as possible. She got out and they both fled, leaving the key in the door behind.

He could hear the guards rousing themselves behind them. They were at the end of the corridor when he heard a roar when the first guard found the unlocked door. Curses, he should have been more careful. Stopping her at the door, he carefully glanced out. A call was already going out, telling people to stop them. If they wanted to make it out, they'd have to be extremely careful. While they couldn't kill him, he fingered the tatoo on his arm, he couldn't say the same for her.

Finally both of them worked up their nerve. They bolted from the building, making it nearly two feet before falling flat on their faces. Something must have tripped them up. He attempted to scramble to his feet before he heard the tell-tale sign of a gun being cocked and froze.

"Stay where you are," a rough voice grated at him. "Turn over very slowly so I can see who you are."

Though he obeyed, he felt a trickle of sweat rolling down the side of his head. They couldn't kill him... could they? It was one of his father's mercenaries, he recognized instantly. His gun was pointing at both of them, and his hand was actually on the trigger.

With a heavy sigh, the boy let his head drop back to the dirt beneath him. Busted.

  
  


"He's right over there," one of the men whispered. "We're sure that's him."

"Go," another urged. The leader of the caravan didn't move, hesitating. His balding forehead was covered in tiny droplets of sweat. Pulling out an ornate handkerchief, he wiped off his forehead and took a deep breath. It was going to take a while for him to work up his nerve to talk to this guy. Normally, as the leader of the caravan, he was certain everyone was beneath him and would bow to his wishes.

But this guy... he was Vash the Stampede. An outlaw like that cared nothing for authority. There was no one else capable of doing the job right, though. His son had too many places to go, too many ways to escape. Though he wasn't actually his real son, he'd taken after him; his mind was shrewd. This city would swallow him easily, and then all of the caravan's work would have been for nothing. The trading empire he had worked for would fall into dust. And there were many who would happily help that happen...

Steeling himself, the caravan leader made his way across the floor of the bar. The figure in the long red coat didn't move, just holding his drink in one hand. He'd sat in the bar for the past five minutes, not speaking or even taking a drink. Very creepy.

"Excuse me," the caravan leader asked softly. Instantly the man's gaze snapped up to meet his. A pair of yellow mirrored glasses were over his eyes, making him seem inhuman. Then again, maybe the legendary outlaw was.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly. Wringing his hands, the caravan leader pushed on, regardless.

"Are you Vash the Stampede?"

"Yes." With that short answer he turned away, looking back down at his drink. Refusing to be dismissed, the caravan leader went on.

"My son is our caravan's only ticket into this city. I'm afraid he's a very rebellious boy, and he tried to run away. I need you to keep him here."

"You want me..." Vash growled, his voice dangerous, "to babysit?"

"No! No!" The caravan leader quickly assured him, backing up slightly. "There's more to it than that. Many people in this city... disagree with my business practices and want to see me put out of business. I think they're planning a strike to kidnap him. So the real reason I want to hire you is to keep him from leaving, any way that he might."

"25 million double dollars," Vash demanded. "Up front."

"But... but, I don't have that sort of-"

"The price is not negotiable." Noticeably, his hand rested on his gun.

"Right, right. Whatever you want," the caravan leader agreed, eager to get out of the situation. "You are authorized to use whatever methods you want."

"Fine." Vash abruptly got to his feet, draining his glass completely and replacing it on the counter. The caravan leader communicated to one of his men to get to the money. Without another word, Vash turned and swept away.

Wiping sweat from his brow, the caravan leader glanced after him and sighed. That was undoubtably Vash the Stampede.

  
  


Emptying the suitcase of money, Vash placed it inside his coat and nodded to them.

"Goodbye, gentlemen," he said icily, dismissing the flunkies. They eager took the opportunity to scurry away, and get out of his presence. Turning, Vash moved back to the clearing.

They had set up in the middle of a large open space, in the middle of the camp. In the very center sat the two captives, the son and another, probably a slave. Vash's sensitive ears could hear her weeping. So that was the way things were. Around them stood a broad circle of men, all well armed.

Obviously, they couldn't kill the boy, Vash deduced quickly. He was far too important for them. But the girl was only merchandise, they'd probably shoot her down in an instant. That was why their guns held both of them at bay, the boy was horribly afraid of her death. It was probably a mistake to get involved with this, but Vash had already committed himself. Besides, there was a very real possibility that this could work out for his good.

"All of you, freeze," Vash demanded, raising his gun and pointing it at the circle of men. They gasped and turned to him, only to stop at the sight of the gun. In a flash they took in the reflective glasses and the red coat and recognized who he was. None of them seemed willing to move, not wanting to face the legendary Vash the Stampede.

"What are you doing?" one of the braver men demanded. "Aren't you supposed to be helping us protect them?"

"Unbind them," Vash ordered, ignoring him completely, "and let them go. If you have any interest in living, do it now."

None of the men moved, paralyzed by fear and remnants of loyalty to the caravan. There was a momentary standoff, then two of the men moved, attacking from opposite sides. One reached for a gun from further way, Vash dropped him before his fingers closed around the handle. The other was far closer, but also without a weapon. He slammed a fist into Vash's chest.

Gasping in pain, the man pulled his hand back. It felt like he had punched iron. Unbeknownst to him, he had. His fist had struck the metal grill embedded in Vash's chest and it couldn't possibly have felt very good. Regardless, the bullet that struck him a second later ended any pain he might have felt. Returning his gun to an upright position, Vash glanced at the rest of the men cooly.

Shocked, the rest of the men hurried to obey his orders. The two kids were quickly unbound and standing in the middle of the group, looking confused and nervous. Vash kept his gun leveled at the others.

"I thought the boss hired you to stop the kid," one of the men nearly whimpered. Vash's head shifted slightly toward him, his glasses covering his eyes so it was impossible to tell where he was truly looking.

"He told me I was authorized to use whatever methods I want. And I want to let them go."

"What the h*** was he thinking?" one of the thugs muttered. "He never should have hired a killer like Vash the Stampede. Now we're all going to die."

"Go back to your boss," Vash continued, voice brooking no argument. "Tell him I know about the cargo he's carrying. Tell him that unless he turns himself in to the proper authorities I will personally slaughter his entire family. Go."

Needing no second urging, the thugs dropped their weapons and ran in the opposite direction, back toward the main part of the camp. Vash put his gun back in his holster silently. Had he really been as ruthless as they thought he was, he would have shot them all from behind.

Vash turned back to the two kids, who were still motionless.

"Go," he told them. "Are you interested in surviving? Get out of here."

"Thank you, Vash the Stampede!" the girl told him hesitantly.

"Why would you help us?" the boy asked.

"That's none of your business. Don't tell anyone about what happened here. Now go."

They didn't say anything else, turning and running into the shadows of the city itself. Once again, Vash was by himself. If this didn't confirm his reputation, nothing would. At least, nothing he was willing to do. Obviously, he couldn't slaughter a city of people or anything of the sort.

Most likely, the thugs would return armed in mass, angry and wanting to fight. But by then, he would be long gone. The threat would be enough to make the leader of the caravan turn himself in. Call it a parting gift to Marianne.

Turning and walking from the scene, Vash fingered the scars across his shoulder lightly. Perhaps his entire escapade would be worth something after all...

  
  


"Really, ma'am, thank you for your help. I can't believe they were trading slaves into this city right under our noses."

"Just doing my duty," Marianne saluted the city sheriff smartly. They were both standing outside of the sheriff's office, within sight of the city hall and the Plant, which loomed just inside the city. "Are you sure things will be fine here?"

"With your help and information, we were able to round up all the perpetrators really easily. Everything should be fine." The man scratched his head, expression becoming puzzled. "What I can't figure out is why the leader of the whole thing up and turned himself in. He probably could have gotten away with it."

"It wasn't me." Marianne shrugged. That part confused her, too. He'd come in the night they were capturing all the criminals, sweating profusely and periodically glancing behind him as if expecting to be followed. She wasn't going to question her incredibly good luck, though. 

This was a nearly perfect operation. All members of the slave ring had been captured incredibly quickly, the slaves had been freed, and there had been no fighting. Two of the men in the camp had been found dead, but that was all. Another part of her hoped the two she had met before had escaped as well. She silently wished them luck.

"Yeah, it was a funny situation," the sheriff was still speaking. "I've always wondered what makes people decide to go into lives of crime..."

His words faded from her ears as Marianne saw a figure in the distance. He was far way, moving toward the Plant, but his red coat was unmistakable. Suddenly Marianne's focus vanished, she barely heard any of the sheriff's words. It was far more important to catch up to him, and perhaps find out his name this time. After that, of course, she had to report back to headquarters.

"Excuse me," she interrupted, "I have something I need to do. Bye."

Not waiting for him to response, Marianne turned and began walking her fastest after the retreating figure in the red coat...

  
  


Sighing, Vash glanced at the official through his yellow tinted glasses. It would have been a simple matter to kill this guy and go through, but he didn't want to do that. For one thing, he needed to stay in there for some time, and in that time he'd be vulnerable. No sense getting everyone angry at him. Besides, it wouldn't have been right and it was unnecessary.

"I'm afraid I can't let you through here, sir," the official repeated. "Only authorized personal are allowed access to the Plant. It's very dangerous, you know."

"Listen, I just need to go inside for a while. I'll leave tomorrow and I won't have changed everything. I know my way around Plants, trust me, I won't ruin anything."

"It doesn't matter your reasoning, sir," the official shook his head, "no entry to the plant without access is allowed. I absolutely refuse to bend on this principle."

Reaching into his coat, Vash grabbed several bundles of bills. He had very little personal use for money, so he might as well use it now. This official seemed to be pretty duty-oriented, committed to his post. Time to see how far his principle went.

The official's eyes practically leapt from his sockets when he saw Vash slap the money down on the table. Obviously a lot more than he was used to seeing.

"I promise I won't do anything, I just need inside."

"Whatever you say, sir!" The official snatched up the bills and then grandly gestured toward the door of the Plant. "I have seen nothing and nobody went inside."

So much for principle.

  
  


Less than half a minute later, Marianne mounted the same steps to the Plant. She'd been hurrying, and was only now catching up to him. Going here made her puzzled, however. Why would he want to go to a Plant?

"I'm afraid I can't let you through here, ma'am," the official repeated. "No entry to the plant without access is allowed. I absolutely refuse to bend on this principle."

"Out of the way," Marianne told him without slowing, pulling her sheriff's badge from her pocket and flashing it in his face. He immediately backed down, not getting in her way as she strode up to the doors. Opening them, Marianne moved inside, glancing around. She couldn't hear anything, but he couldn't be that far ahead, and the Plant layout seemed to be relatively simple. With any luck she could catch up with him quickly.

She was moving down the corridors at such a fast pace she very nearly missed the glow that came from under one of the doors. It was a soft humming sound that caught her attention, making her go back.

Touching the control panel on the side of the door, Marianne waited for it to slide open, then gasped. The room on the other side was unlike anything she had ever seen before. It was filled with technology obvious of an ancient age, beyond anything this planet was capable of creating. Most odd, however, was the fact that all of it seemed nearly biological, almost as if it had been grown.

Standing on the opposite end of the chamber was the red cloaked man. She had finally found him. Hearing her entrance he turned quickly. Seeing her, he calmed and merely turned back to his work. He was facing a large blue sphere, one that glowed with some manner of energy. It continued to hum as he manipulated the panel beside it.

"What are you doing here?" he asked as she walked up beside him. She shrugged.

"Following you. What are you doing here?"

He waited a long moment before responding, as if considering his answer. Meanwhile, his fingers continued to fly over the computer terminal.

"There is something I have needed to do for a long time," he finally answered. "Only the technology of a Plant is capable of accomplishing it."

"How do you know how to work one of these things?"

Turning to her, he smiled just slightly. Very different from the smile she had seen before, when he had been pretending. "Let's just say that I have a lot of experience with them. Did you need to talk about something terribly important?"

"No, not really." Now that she was here, Marianne felt more silly than anything. Why on earth had she followed him in the first place?

"I'd love to talk to you, but I need to do this right away. You'll need to step out of the room."

"Oh. Alright." This was odd, to say the least. Nonetheless, she moved back toward the door. "When will you be done?"

"Sometime tomorrow," he told her.

"Ah. I'll just wait, then."

"Alright." He nodded, then turned back to the terminal. When she left the room, he was still making modifications. Behind her the door shut, and she heard a locking mechanism activate. So he was serious about her not coming in. It was probably dangerous, though, so that made sense. Putting her back to a wall and sitting, Marianne waited.

  
  


Inside the chamber, Vash finished his tinkering. Stepping back from the computer terminal, he calmly stripped off his clothing and set it neatly aside. He glanced over his scars one last time, just for memory's sake, then stepped into the blue sphere. It closed over him like a liquid, encasing him entirely. On the computer terminal, the countdown began.

  
  


A smile on his face, Vash pushed open the door, to see this man who was somehow related to Rem. The sight that greeted him struck like a physical blow, making him stumble. He was slumped on the table, a pool of blood collecting beneath him. Calmly sitting on the table was Knives, who grinned maliciously at Vash.

"Now, your last contact with that woman has been severed."

"You... killed him..."

"You sound almost like you can't believe it or something. Fool." Knives smiled, nearly demonically. "You haven't changed a bit, you know that? It disgusts me. I'll bet you still have all those scars, don't you? For some stupid reason you don't want to let go, you hold onto them, just like you hold onto all your stupid ideas."

"You... you're wrong..."

  
  


The steel wall of the Plant was getting cold, as the sun's light ceased to warm it. Despite herself, Marianne shivered. It was going to be cold, but nothing she couldn't handle. At least in here there was no wind, and the building would retain its heat somewhat well.

What am I doing? What's wrong with me? Here she was, spending the night inside a piece of ancient technology, just for the sake of waiting for him to get out. And she still didn't know his name, no less. Had it occurred in anyone else, she would have labeled it as an obsession. Of course, it didn't feel like an obsession. Most obsessions probably didn't. But what was it?

Admit it, you're just lovesick, she told herself. After being cramped up in the office with idiots, you finally meet someone and you go crazy. Let it go. All that's going to happen after this is you'll go back to the office, maybe get another job, maybe not. What can you possibly be waiting for?

Yet she waited still. Call it perseverance or stubbornness. He had smiled, once. That smile had been so incredibly different; somehow it seemed like it actually mattered. Before, he had been constantly cheerful, and she had wished he would grow up and be serious. Now that he was being serious all the time, she desperately wanted to see him smile again. 

That was what it was, she finally recognized. He seemed so sad, like something was wearing him down from the inside, like he was carrying a gigantic burden. No one deserved to have to deal with that. No one.

Thoughts still on a certain figure in red, Marianne drifted off to sleep.


	4. 60,000,000,000

Hey. People actually reviewed. Meanwhile, I should mention that this chapter is as awash in grammatical errors as the last. Seriously, I have no time this week, and five major tests in a row. I'm sure none of you will complain, however; if you will, could I direct you to my friends at Eye Log Removal Inc.?

  
  


About Marianne/Vash... I never claimed this was going to be an unusual pairing, just not one of the classic eight. I've never read any other Trigun fanfiction, so I have no idea if it's been done before by anyone else.

  
  


About characterizing Vash... to say he's been mischaracterized misses the point. This is an AU, and I've never said it was other than that. One will notice in the last chapter that Vash's flashback about Knives is different. Likewise, other things have changed. This chapter doesn't delve too far into this, but you do get another flashback.

  
  


-

  
  


Chapter 4: $$60,000,000,000

  
  


Gunfire burst into her unconscious mind, shattering her dreams. Marianne was instantly awake, her hand unconsciously around her gun. In her days as a sheriff before, she'd learned to sleep lightly and cautiously. Recently, she hadn't had any need for such skills, but apparently they had been merely sitting in latency.

Again she heard gunfire. Drawing her gun, Marianne crept to the entrance of the Plant. Glancing out the door, she could see nothing immediately, so she carefully crept outside. It sounded like a fierce firefight was going on, but she couldn't tell exactly where. Apparently closer to the town hall than here.

He had said he would be in there for a while, so it was probably more important that she found out what was going on. The fact that she still didn't know his name continued to irk her. In any case, while it really wasn't her job, she wouldn't stand for any chaos in this town.

She got to the street, and finally discovered what was going on. Most of the firefight had taken place at the town hall steps, but it appeared to be mostly over now. Several sheriffs lay on the ground, dead or dying. Everyone was screaming and rushing around, apparently not in any particular direction. At the root of all the chaos, Marianne quickly discovered, was a group of ruffians at the large door of the town hall.

With the battle apparently over, they now moved from the cover of the door, leveling guns at the crowd below. Everyone there quickly froze, not wanting to test the patience of such obviously bloodthirsty criminals. There was a long moment of silence, then one of them stepped forward. He was wearing a large, wide-brimmed hat that was pulled down over his eyes, and it gave him an air of authority the others didn't have. Obviously the leader.

"All of you!" he roared. "We're the feared Dopunk Gang! You move, we shoot you!"

No one seemed like they were going to challenge him on that.

"Now, we only want one thing," he went on. "Plain and simple. Give him to us, you'll live. Don't, you'll all die. Now, we hear that Vash the Stampede is in this city. Where is he?"

No response came from the crowd, none of them having any idea. The leader stalked back and forth at the top of the town hall steps, waiting for an answer. Marianne nervously watched the situation, hoping it wouldn't turn bad. This was an extremely tricky scenario, and it had to be handled perfectly.

"I said where is he?" the leader demanded. Again there was no response. Glancing at the thugs with a practiced eye, Marianne decided that a few of them were probably certifiable nut cases. That was the last thing they needed. It would only take a spark to set this situation off. Police policy stated that all agents should wait for diplomatic negotiations, no matter what.

The leader raised a hand, and abruptly more gunfire shattered the silence. Bullets struck the first wave of bystanders, sending them toppling to the ground.

"Bring me Vash the Stampede!" the leader roared. "Now!"

Seeing how easily death had been meted out, the crowds turned and rushed away, anything to get away from the crazy gunman. Some of them cocked guns, intending to find the human typhoon and bring him back to end the bloodshed. Behind him, the leader of the Dopunk Gang laughed, amid the pile of bodies.

Screw policy. Marianne checked that her guns were fully loaded, then fired. Her initial attack dropped several of the gang members, but she knew her element of surprise wouldn't last for long. In this situation, there would be no backup, no help. She had to do it herself. While they were still in turmoil, Marianne took a break for a large statue in the center of the square.

Putting her back to it, Marianne drew her second gun. By this point, the other members of the gang had figured out where she was, and were firing in her direction. She winced subconsciously, but the bullets merely chipped away at the statue. Leaning out from behind it for a split second, she fired in response. This was most likely going to be a brutal fight.

At the moment, the statue was shielding her, leaving her free to snipe them one by one. When she popped out to fire, however, Marianne noticed that she was receiving no gunfire in return. That couldn't be good. Without really thinking about it, she took a leap away from the statue, rolling as she hit the ground.

It was quite fortunate that she did. A rocket launcher had quickly been constructed; its projectile struck the statue with considerable force, blowing it away completely. Seeing they had missed their target, the outlaws again opened fire. At the sharp command of their leader, they charged into the city, with a mission to seek and destroy.

  
  


Within the Plant, there was an aura of serenity, unmoving, unchanging. Faded into the background, a hum of machinery droned on constantly. A computer terminal counted down in silence, measuring the time that remained. Eventually the count dropped to zero, and then faded without a trace. With it went the humming noise, and for a second there was absolute silence. The surface of the blue bubble was unbroken, and then fingers reached through the surface.

Emerging from the blue bubble, Vash couldn't help but stare at himself. The scars were gone. Completely gone. His skin was smooth, as if it had never been so horribly broken. During the process, the metal grate had dissolved. He was whole.

Picking up his clothes, Vash quickly reclad himself. Without the scars underneath, his jacket felt odd, like something was missing. But, he slowly realized, it was like missing a pain that had been with you forever: it was different, but it was better. Despite himself, Vash grinned. He felt as he never had before, new, refreshed. 

The sound of gunfire interrupted his newfound joy. Sighing, Vash focused his senses outside. Some sort of firefight. Not good. Returning his gun to its holster, Vash picked up his glasses and placed them back on his face as he swept from the room. Once again his face was deadly serious.

"This failed experiment," he whispered to himself softly, "...is over."

  
  


Ducking into the alley, Marianne rolled hard to avoid pursuing gunfire. They were still chasing her, and by this point they were closing in. Though she'd managed to take out many of them, there were quite a few. Outside of the alleyway, there was an abrupt spurt of gunfire, then silence. Putting her back to a dumpster, Marianne quickly reloaded and prepared to go out once again-

The barrel of a gun appeared in front of her abruptly. Shocked, she could only look down the arm that held it, where one of the outlaws grinned savagely. His gun engaged, the click seeming horribly loud in the silence.

"Hey boss!" he yelled out the alley. "I've fo-"

Suddenly he collapsed, his gun slipping from his hands and clattering to the ground. Not knowing what was happening, Marianne quickly whirled and aimed both guns in the direction the shot had come from, preparing to fire on anyone who might enter the alley...

"Is that any way to greet someone?" Vash asked cooly, standing with his arms folded at the end of the alley. In one of his hands he held a smoking gun. Taking a deep sigh of relief, Marianne let her guns drop to her sides. So he had finished, and just in time, apparently. Getting to her feet, she moved to the entrance of the alleyway, checking for any more of the outlaws. On the street behind him, she saw many of them lying on the ground, one of them the leader. It was finally over.

Smiling in relief, Marianne put both of her guns away. Turning to thank him, she found that he was already gone. Suddenly alone, Marianne glanced around the street, accompanied by only corpses. The wind whistled past her, blowing dust that bit into her skin. Not again...

A gentle breeze floated through the sweet air, blowing the gossamer threads from side to side. The spider's web glistened, tiny dew drops glowing in the artificial sunlight. It was a beautiful sight... and an object of destruction. Struggling with all its might, the butterfly tried to escape the web, its attempts only further entangling it. Slowly, as if sure of its meal, the spider crept forward, mandibles outstretched.

Vash hovered by it, staring in horror at what was about to happen. There had to be something he could do. Struggling with himself, he raised his hands, then lowered them again, unsure how to act.

"We have to let it free," Rem told him gently.

"But how?" Vash pleaded, eyes questioning.

"Go ahead," Knives taunted, standing on the opposite side of the spider's web. "Save the butterfly."

"But I don't want to hurt the spider!"

"Then the butterfly is going to die, isn't it?"

"I want to save them both!"

"Can you?" Grinning maniacally, Knives floated on the opposite side, his question remaining in the air. The spider was nearly at the butterfly now, preparing to wrap it in its thread...

Knives crunched the spider in one hand. As if nothing had happened he wiped his hand off on the grass. With a cry of horror, Vash stumbled back, not believing what his brother had done.

"Why'd you do that?" he demanded. "You didn't have to kill it!"

"Didn't I?" Knives asked slowly. "Had I done nothing, the butterfly would have died. You weren't going to do anything. And then the spider would have killed again. And again."

"But you killed the spider!"

"And you would have killed the butterfly. There would have been as much blood on your hands as mine, brother. The butterfly would have died, your way. Think about that. Can you live with that? Could you go the rest of your life knowing that because of you the butterfly died?"

"Knives!" Rem gasped, finally interjecting into the boy's feud. She mostly let them bicker, boys would be boys, but this time he had gone too far. Knives had been acting strange recently, for that matter.

Hearing her reproving tone, Knives shrank back slightly, looking apologetic.

"Sorry," he whispered, but all three of them wondered if he truly was. He shuffled about for a few moments, then ran off, toward the door of the artificial environment. Rem stared after him silently, torn between the two boys who had become children to her. Vash was crying before the spider's web; he made no noise, but his small body was shaking.

"It's alright," she told him softly, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, looking extremely forlorn. He was only a few years old, after all. 

"But he's right," Vash barely got the words out. "I would have let the butterfly die. I didn't want to make a choice about who would die... but that's a choice too, isn't it?"

"Hush. You did the right thing."

Shaking in her arms, Vash closed his eyes tightly. He couldn't help but wonder...

  
  


Taking a slow sip from the glass in front of him, Vash watched the rest of the bar from his peripheral vision. By this point, nearly a week after he had escaped the caravan, he was relatively certain he had shaken anyone following him. That meant only that he could slightly relax his guard; this town was notorious for bounty hunters, so he wanted to keep a low profile.

Perhaps he was being too cautious. He'd picked this spot carefully, chosen a table in a corner where he could put his back to a wall and get a good look at the entire bar. Rumors about the number of bounty hunters in this town were right, almost everyone was carrying a gun. Not a good place for anyone to hear about the reward on his head. A few men were shadily pointing in his direction to each other, but they were doing that to a lot of people. Hopefully, nothing would come of it.

Scanning the crowds, he abruptly froze, recognizing one of the faces that came in the doorway. Why was Marianne here? Though he asked himself the question, he already knew the answer: she was following him. After considering slipping away for a moment, Vash opted to stay. She'd know the danger of mentioning who he was, and she'd be cautious.

She quickly spied him, and made her way through the crowded bar to sit in the chair opposite him. Vash merely nodded to her, taking another sip from his drink to avoid saying anything. What did she want?

"Hello again," Marianne said pleasantly. She couldn't believe that she had finally found him. The longer this went on, the more nervous she became, but apparently it was over.

"You followed me?" Vash asked. She nodded.

"You're a tough man to track. It's taken me all week to catch up to you. How do you vanish like that?"

Shrugging, Vash responded simply, "One acquires certain skills to avoid trouble."

"You seem to need them. Trouble follows you like a cloud," she told him, quite seriously. "Everywhere you go, things seem to go wrong. I have one question, though." He raised an eyebrow. "Was that you that made the leader of that slave caravan give himself up like that? I thought that whole case seemed to go a bit too tight." 

"Yeah, that was me. Very perceptive." He took another sip from his glass. "Don't you have a job to do or something?"

Blushing slightly, Marianne lowered her head. Obviously, she did have a job to do. "They don't need me back right away," she explained, somewhat weakly. "My boss never even specified a return date. I got the job done in record time, so I figured I had a few extra days."

"I see." He let it pass, there was no point aggravating the situation. But he wasn't going to let this conversation continue without getting some of his questions answered. "So, why are you here?"

"First off, I had to thank you for helping me. But really, well, we seem to keep running into each other, and something has been driving me nuts: I don't know your real name. You know mine, it's only fair that I know yours."

"Ah." Vash was silent for another long moment, stalling by taking a long drink from his cup. He was running out, he'd have to find another delaying technique soon. "Well, that situation is a bit more complicated."

"Why?" she asked. "You have a reason to keep it a secret?"

"Yes," he smiled imperceptibly, but it was a sardonic smile, not a happy one. "I have very good reasons. But you're right, it's only fair." Vash glanced from side to side, a slick movement that allowed him to glance around without appearing to do so, except that Marianne had been in the business long enough to recognize it. "This might come as a bit of a surprise," he told her seriously. "If you're caught off guard, don't let it show."

"Out with it already. What's your name?"

He leaned closer, whispering with one gloved hand into her ear. It was a barely perceptible movement, that could almost have been mistaken for a hand gesture. But she still easily caught the word, "Vash."

A surprise, like he had said. Years of training kept her from revealing anything on her face, but inwardly she was in total shock. For a moment she was completely stunned, unable to do any more than sit in her chair and be mute. Finally she gathered her wits long enough to respond. At the last second she remembered to keep her voice low.

"Vash? As in Vash the Stampede?"

"Right," Vash told her, eyes sad. Despite the turmoil of her mind, Marianne found herself wondering why he looked so mournful.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Remember back when we first met? I asked you what you would do if I really was Vash the Stampede?"

"Oh. Right." They sat in silence for a minute. Vash drained his glass, setting it down heavily on the table.

"What are you going to do now?" he asked. "Arrest me? Take me in for that sixty billion?"

This question truly caught her off guard, leaving her wondering if she knew the answer herself. What was she going to do? Obviously, this would be the absolute worst place to do such a thing. But if they were elsewhere, could she have tried? Could she even have managed to arrest him? She had said she would, so long ago, but it had all been joking then...

"Not after you saved my life again," she answered. "I owe you a debt for that."

"Perhaps I'd better go. We shouldn't really be involved with each other ever again." Vash abruptly stood up. Before she could even argue or let out a word of protest, he vanished into the night, his characteristic red jacket billowing behind him.

How can this be? she asked herself. How can he be Vash the Stampede? It was a question she had no answer for. Surely, he wasn't the type to destroy entire cities. He'd constantly goofed off, messing around. And that infatuation with her surely didn't befit a killer, especially not such a legendary outlaw...

No. It didn't matter, she reminded herself. All her thoughts had been based on what she had seen while he was still acting. How much of everything he had done been an act? Was even this just a lie? What was the real Vash like? She couldn't imagine him being the type to even shoot another, much less slaughter people. Then again, she remembered the graceful ease with which he had dodged bullets and taken the gun from his opponent. That sort of action was the type befitting a killer.

But why would he have even cared about that situation? Surely, someone running from the law would have no need to enforce it. Whether the water was manipulated or shared had no effect on his personal well being. Certainly, he didn't care about her or those other two girls. Or did he? Even the worst of outlaws had friends. Then again, why would he have counted her as one of his friends?

Another contradiction arose in her mind, further forcing her thoughts into chaos. He had saved her again, at the city, and gone out of his way to do so. That, certainly, was not the behavior of a known criminal. Back at the camp, he'd spent all that time talking with her. Why would he have bothered, if he didn't actually care somehow?

Maybe that was it. A thought sprung into her mind, quickly becoming more well formed. Maybe when one was a legendary killer, they needed friends. That could have been why he was so angry now. She had been the only person who didn't know who he really was, who saw him as a person, not a legend. Marianne gave that a second's thought, and began piecing together pieces of the puzzle. Not the perfect truth, perhaps, but certainly she had some of it. It was all so difficult. She had no idea what he was thinking, and he was an emotionally closed book.

Glancing around, she discovered that the bar had almost entirely cleaned out. That was strange, the patrons had looked to be staying long into the night. Had something happened she had completely ignored in her thoughts? Something about this felt very wrong...

A crushing blow struck the back of her skull, slamming her forward into the table. Completely thrown off balance, Marianne could only vaguely duck to the side as another huge object smashed down where she had been. Her head was still shooting daggers at her, but at least she was still conscious. 

Even with her still blurry vision, she could make out the shape of a gun, aimed at her forehead. Freezing instantly, Marianne cautiously glanced around as her vision returned. A circle of ruffians stood around her. All of them were carrying pistols or rifles, and they all looked deadly serious. Obviously something had changed she hadn't been aware of.

Still with the gun aimed in her direction, one of them grabbed her by the neck and lifted her painfully to her feet. What did they want? They were after something very specific, but she couldn't figure out what. In her current condition, she wasn't able to pull a gun on any of them. The others would probably shoot her if she tried, even so.

"Where the h*** is Vash the Stampede?" the leader demanded, getting a good handful of her hair and using it to force her to keep on the tips of her toes.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, more confused than rebellious.

"Don't play dumb," he growled, "We know you were talking to him. Tell us where he went and we'll take care of the situation."

Suddenly Marianne found herself torn between her sense of duty and a vague sense of loyalty to Vash. As a sheriff, she really should help in the apprehension of a dangerous criminal. They might even be able to stop him, ending a horrible threat to the planet. But he had saved her life twice, and she somehow couldn't bring herself to turn him over to them. That wouldn't have been right either. Having no patience for such psychological struggles, the leader pulled her hair up a few inches, making her gasp in pain.

"Where?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "Do you think he'd tell me?"

Sighing, the leader growled as if in disbelief, but he loosened his grip on her hair just slightly.

"Search her," he commanded. Immediately several of the men descended around her, checking inside her coat. Their hands did more than merely check.

"D***, this chick is armed," one of the men muttered, pulling out both of her guns. Narrowing his eyes, the leader examined them quickly, then glanced back to her, kicking the others away.

"Who are you?"

"Come on, boss," one of the men whined. "Just get this all over with. We wanna have some fun!"

"Shut up," he growled, forcing the drooling members of the gang into submission. A shady looking member of the group slid up next to the leader. His dark hair was slicked back perfectly, giving him an even sleazier look.

"He's probably still in the area," he advised quietly. "She obviously doesn't know enough. Just shoot her and let's get after him."

"Yeah, you're probably right," the leader acknowledged, nodding slowly. He pulled a long pistol from her belt and aimed it at Marianne's head and cocked it.

A shot rang through the room, and Marianne winced, anticipating the deadly shot. When she failed to die, she opened an eyelid, wondering what was going on. Mere fractions of a second after the first shot, multiple others were fired. The leader's hand in her hair slackened, and he collapsed to the floor.

Catching her balance, Marianne quickly looked around, trying to get a handle on the situation. It wouldn't be unheard of for bounty hunters to kill their own in the interests of getting a particularly high target. But none of the group was left standing. Someone else, then. Bending to the ground, Marianne picked up one of her fallen guns.

Suddenly she saw him, standing in the doorway. Vash's body was silhouetted by the bright lights from the street outside, one hand still raised, the last of the smoke fading from its barrel. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed almost like Vash's eyes were glowing a disturbing blue.

The moment vanished, and Vash lowered his gun, coming inside to stand behind her. Clipping the edge of her gun with his foot, he kicked it up to his hand, then returned it to her. Not questioning, Marianne took it.

"I thought you said it was better we were never involved again."

"I didn't realize they knew who I was," Vash answered her, reloading his gun. "It would be wrong for you to be killed on my account. The least I can do is keep my problems away from you."

"Why would you care?" she asked, perhaps more cynically than she had thought. He glanced at her, his gaze somewhat sad. To avoid her slight embarrassment at upsetting him, Marianne fully loaded both of her guns, looking away.

"Why do you say that?" Vash asked softly.

"I'd think a killer like you wouldn't care about anyone else."

"Oh," he glanced away from her, remaining silent for a moment longer. "I guess I'm just somewhat altruistic at times. I'm not as bad as the legends make me out to be."

"How can you really be the human typhoon? It seems so unlike you."

A fleeting smile crossed Vash's face, and then vanished. "I'm glad that you think so. But trust me," Vash pulled his reflective shades from his pocket and put them on, then glanced back up at her, "I can be Vash."

"I really shouldn't be doing this," Marianne said slowly. "A police officer talking with the legendary outlaw?" They both knew she wasn't very serious, and the tension lessened somewhat.

"Would you like to handcuff me?" Vash asked, face quasi-sincere. "If it makes you feel better."

"Right," Marianne agreed, falsely gung-ho. "Got to do my duty." Actually taking a pair of handcuffs from her jacket, she clapped one of them around his left wrist, leaving his shooting arm free.

"No!" Vash gasped. "You've captured me!"

Both of them laughed softly, the tension vanishing. Of course, this didn't solve any real problems, and Marianne still worried about her duty, but she somehow felt better. It was the first time she'd heard him laugh, truly laugh, since she'd met him. Something about it made her want to see it again.

"Freeze where you are!" a voice suddenly yelled. Vash and Marianne whipped their heads around to glance at the source of the voice, a thug in the doorway. He was aiming a gun in their general direction. Glancing sideways at Vash, Marianne discovered that he was completely serious once again, all trace of merriment gone from his face. Almost scary, really.

Slowly, Vash pulled his gun, and leveled it at the thug's head. In disbelief, the thug did nothing, just watching him. 

"You're the... the legendary Vash the Stampede?" he stammered incredulously.

"Your move."

  
  


Everything within the bar was overturned, tables strew across the floor, the literal bar itself chipped away by the massive amount of lead that had been pumped at it. All four walls were still standing, but there were a few gaping holes in them. Only two remained standing, the only others in the room were cadavers.

Simply put, Marianne was in awe. She had helped as best she could, but it had been Vash who had swept the bounty hunters away. He only carried six bullets in his gun, but he made each of them count, then reloaded at a nearly invisible rate. Everyone who attacked the building was dropped almost instantly. Yet, through it all, Vash wasn't really bloodthirsty, just coldly efficient. One of them had lost his nerve and ran, Vash had let him go, whereas Marianne would have been tempted to at least nonfatally wound him. 

Determining the battle was over, Vash returned his gun to its holster, first ensuring that it was again loaded. With the bounty hunters knowing his presence here, he needed to be ready. Of course, an incident like this would keep them away for a while. But in his long life, Vash had learned never to underestimate the power of greed.

"That was... amazing," Marianne breathed. "You're really fast."

"Thanks," Vash merely nodded. "You didn't do badly yourself, it's easy to see why you've kept your job as a sheriff."

"Thanks!" Marianne beamed. A compliment from someone like him meant quite a bit. Suddenly she realized what she was thinking. Taking the words of a mass murderer as a compliment? What was she thinking? Having seen him fight now, however, she was in no hurry to try and coerce him to do anything against his will. "At first I wasn't too sure, because of how you acted strange when we first met and all, but after this, I realized you really are Vash the Stampede."

"Right." Vash sighed deeply. "I am." Abruptly he swept away, in that swift manner he seemed to always do. Before she could protest, he was out the door. How did he do that? And, more importantly, what had she said to offend him? They had been joking around a short while earlier, and then suddenly he was gone.

Slowly and deliberately, Marianne reloaded and replaced her guns, getting back to normal after the entire experience. There was nothing else here, she slowly walked for the door, moving around furniture and bodies. The mundane activities kept her from thinking. Nothing she did made the dull empty feeling inside go away.

It was growing dark, but Vash simply ignored it, walking on. Most likely, it wasn't safe to stay in the city. If he left immediately after killing the bounty hunters, the others would likely be more afraid to follow him. Furthermore, if everyone knew he was leaving, they'd be less likely to bother Marianne. She could take care of any minor problems in her way. But that was over now, it'd be best for her if she didn't meet him again.

Reaching into his pocket, Vash pulled out the handcuffs, idly fingering them. It'd been easy to pick the lock, but he'd kept them. Why would he bother? That question remained with him, reminding him that he didn't even understand himself. With a slight smile, Vash put them back into his pocket. A memory.

At least to her he wasn't just $$60,000,000,000. The others all saw him as a number, an easy way to make a fortune, or so they thought. It was at those moments that he wished there was more stigma attached to his name, so they'd just stay away. Marianne didn't think of him that way. But he was still Vash the Stampede.


	5. Life to Ashes

The second to last chapter already. How time slips away from you. This is the chapter in which you finally get some answers as to what exactly is going on. Much will be explained, and our villains properly identified. You're still left in the dark as to all of Vash's past. But hey, Trigun did that to you as well.

  
  


Now, I'll warn everyone that I'm going to digress in this paragraph. I don't really support random rantings in stories, so I feel the need to inform you so that you can skip it if you wish. That being said, I'll answer to the person who said they like Vash lovable. Yes, I'm aware of this, it seems to be the dominant trend in society at the moment, particularly the Japanese brand. I can understand why a lovable protagonist can be a favorite. I'm afraid it really doesn't apply to me, however. Perhaps this reflects my general tendencies of stoicism and apathy, particularly toward emotion. So while Vash is not a ruthless, cold-hearted killer, if you refer to Vash as "lovable" in the way I believe you do, he's gone. 

  
  


-

  
  


Chapter 5: Life to Ashes...

Dust blew past the jeep, the wind shield in the front blocking most of the sand. Marianne didn't bother to raise the top of the vehicle, letting the wind rush through her hair, blowing it back behind her. She didn't want to think about anything that had gone on before.

The situation that was before her had enough problems of its own. Deep inside her, Marianne realized that she didn't want to go back. She would just return to the office, return the mundane normalcy of office work. It wasn't the thrill of danger that drew her, she just wanted to accomplish something, to be able to save people, to do some good. What was she ever going to do there? Nothing, the answer came back, nothing.

What else are you going to do? a cynical voice inside her asked. The Police Department is the only option. All renegade sheriffs will be prosecuted. You're already in the trouble zone for staying out so much longer after your assignment. If Mr. Rowans ever gives you a mission again, you should count your blessings. And if any of them knew you were talking to Vash the Stampede...

No. That was enough. Marianne sighed heavily, trying to push all of this aside. It was a losing battle on her part. Why did he have to be the Stampede? Couldn't he just be a nice guy who happened to be an expert gunman? Everything would have worked out, but now it was over. Forever.

Just as it seemed she would continue wallowing in sorrow forever, an explosion struck the ground directly in front of the jeep. It turned violently, skidding over the sand and tipping. Acting on instinct, Marianne leapt free of the vehicle before it flipping over completely. Rolling, she managed to brunt most of the impact, the sand cushioning her fall.

She ended up on her back, just in time to see a gun aimed at her forehead. It was an all too common sight recently, it seemed. 

"That's enough," a rough voice grated, coming from a source other than the holder of the gun. Not moving, Marianne tried to figure out who exactly she was dealing with. Two others walked up beside the man holding a gun to her head. Holding the gun was a giant of a man, with a massive claymore on his back. Why would anyone have a sword that big? Or a sword at all, for that matter.

"I said that's enough," the man on the left grated again. He wore pants and jacket in dark grey camouflage, looking for all the world like an army commander. Though he was a strapping figure, Marianne recognized that his primary weapon seemed to be a semi-automatic strapped across his back.

The last man was a thin, dangerous looking sleaze in a dark suit. There was the short stub of a cigarette in his libs, which he nervously moved across to the other side of his mouth every few seconds.

"I agree," he added. "No need for the guns here." The man in the middle grumbled, but put the gun away.

"Who are you?" Marianne demanded, emboldened now that she was no longer in danger of imminent death.

"We have been impolite, gentlemen," the sleaze murmured. "What do you say, commander?"

"Right." He turned to her, face deadly serious. "We're the Hitmen, the four most dangerous mercenaries on this quarter of the planet. I'm Donovan, the leader of this group."

"Cortez," the sleaze acknowledged, flicking a bit of ash from his cigarette.

"Ishmael," the giant of a man grumbled.

"Wait a second," Marianne broke in, "you said there were four of you. And what's with shooting down my jeep and then putting a gun to my head?"

"You will not receive answers to those question," a silky voice cut the others off, coming from behind her. Marianne tried to turn to see who it was, but not before she felt cool hands on her back and a needle sink into her arm. Her vision quickly grew dim, but she struggled to hold onto consciousness for a moment longer.

"The situation has changed," the soft voice continued. "Return with her to headquarters. Ishmael, find him and stop him."

Her grip on reality finally slipped, and the world distorted, then faded away.

  
  


Still groggy, Marianne glanced around her, eyes bleary. She could see little, but it soon became obvious that something was wrong. As her body came to, Marianne became acutely aware of the fact that she was bound to a stiff steel chair most uncomfortably. 

Vision returning, Marianne glanced about her. She was inside an office, one she felt was vaguely familiar to her. Somehow, perhaps due to the drug, she couldn't place it. In any case, this situation was obviously bad. Who would be so interested in capturing her?

"So, you are awake." The voice came from directly in front of her. Marianne realized that her chair was placed immediately before a desk. Across the desk from her was a large leather chair, swivelled away from her so she could not see who was sitting within. For that matter, the voice that had spoken was one she felt as though she should recognize.

"Where am I?" she asked leadenly, weary of being dragged about against her will.

"You don't know? I'm ashamed of you, Marianne."

"How do you know my name?"

Whoever was in the chair laughed softly, and it nearly drove her mad. Suddenly, things seemed to come together for her, and all the elements tugging at the corners of her mind caught a hold at once. She knew where she was now, and the realization filled her with a slow dread. The man in the chair spun around to face her, but she already knew who he was.

"Welcome back," Mr. Rowans said coldly.

  
  


There was no battle cry; no warning save for the whistle of steel pushing air aside. It was enough. Ducking low to the ground, Vash evaded the large blade that flashed above his head. Already his opponent was bringing it around in an arc, to cleave him from above, but Vash easily jumped away from his attack.

As he landed Vash turned, quickly looking over his opponent. He was a huge man, wielding a massive claymore as if he knew how to use it. Most likely, he did. Again he attacked Vash, this time his attack was evaded with a quick jump away.

Continuing to dodge the attacks sent his way, Vash moved back, getting further and further from his opponent's range. When he was far enough, he abruptly pulled his gun, aiming it at his opponent's face. In midswing, he stopped, slowly lowering his blade to rest in the sand beneath him.

"Why did you attack me?" Vash demanded.

"My name is Ishmael. I am here to-"

"I don't care what your name is. Why?"

"You are Vash the Stampede, are you not?"

Vash made no response, just staring at him over his glasses. Ishmael grunted.

"As I thought. Why would anyone care about someone like you? The reward money, of course. But in my case I'm doing this for my boss."

"Who do you work for?" Vash probed. Ishmael shook his head.

"Why should I bother telling you that?"

"It depends if you want to live or not. Who?"

"Let's just say the Police Department is going to get really rich off this deal. That's enough for you to know, but it won't matter, once you're dead."

So. The Police Department. Vash's eyes narrowed. What would they possibly want with that much money? He knew the answer to that question, of course, but the more important question was why. Something was obviously not right here, the Police Department did not work with thugs like this. Unless, of course, they had drastically changed their policy.

"Tell me why."

"No," Ishmael said simply.

"I could shoot you."

"Hah! Sure, you could do that. But where would be the challenge in that? I come at you with a sword, you should respond in kind. If you have any honor at all, you will answer my challenge. How can you resist grappling with a master swordsman?"

In answer Vash fired a shot, killing him instantly. By the time his body hit the ground, Vash was already moving on, now in the opposite direction. Obviously, things were not yet right. Though he wasn't exactly certain what was going on, Vash knew that something was deeply wrong with the Police Department. And that was exactly where Marianne had been headed.

This is none of your business, a voice in his head told him. Stay out of things that don't concern you. Do you really want to keep having to go back to save people?

He told the voice to shut up.

  
  


"Why?" Marianne asked. "Why are you doing this?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Mr. Rowans said by way of response. "But I guess perhaps it isn't. First, though, tell me about where Vash the Stampede is."

"I have no idea! Do you think he just talks to me?"

"We have reason to believe he does. You do not know where he is?"

"No!"

"Fine." Mr. Rowans steepled his fingers before him, eyes narrowing as he considered for a moment. "We will have to... force this information out of you later. For now, I want you to know that you don't have to be harmed in all of this. You're a capable agent, and I'd hate to lose you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Allow me to explain. Do you know why I sent you on the mission to the slaver's caravan? The real reason, not for your job?"

Marianne shook her head mutely.

"I will have to go back even further to explain. Since I have risen to my position here, I have been operating for my own profit and the profit of a few close compatriots. Trying to impose law on this planet is nothing but a joke. With men being so naturally lawless, it is a futile effort. But we have the power, and what is the use of power if we do not use it?

"Through any methods possible, I've accumulated considerable wealth for myself. Because I control all sheriffs in the area, I am completely immune to any sort of retaliation from the law. That's why we took you out of your position as sheriff: you're too smart. You would have figured out what was going on. Shuffling you to the office worked for a while, but even there you very nearly uncovered some important information.

"So it was decided we had to do away with you. In retrospect, I understand this was a mistake, but at the time it seemed wise and many others were forcing my hand. I knew that Vash the Stampede would be in the caravan at the same time, and I hoped that you would meet him and be killed in the confrontation. No such thing occurred.

"With that plan failing, I opted to use more direct means. It occurred to me that it would be a terrible waste to lose you, when you could instead join us. Plus, you have a connection to Vash the Stampede, and if we collect the bounty on his head, we will gain a fortune's fortune. So I hired my Hitmen to bring you here, and I fear they used somewhat destructive means. They are only hired men, after all, not agents such as yourself.

"So what do you say? I can offer you great wealth, and, if you help us capture the human typhoon, wealth beyond your wildest dreams. It would be far better for us to be allies than enemies. What is your decision?"

During his entire monolog, Marianne had remained completely silent, stunned by the barrage of facts. Even as they buried her in a mountain of logic, other details began to come together. Minor things she would never have noticed before suddenly made sense in this context.

It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. If Mr. Rowans was not lying, than this section of the Police Department was nothing more than a face for the largest crime syndicate on the entire planet. Which would mean that it was just a lie. Everything she had worked for would be nothing more than a lie. She couldn't accept that. No. It couldn't be.

"My time is valuable, Miss Marianne," Mr. Rowans said, voice dropping dangerously. "What is your decision?"

"I can't believe you," Marianne responded. "You're a disgrace to the name sheriff. You're the opposite of everything you're supposed to stand for. You disgust me!"

"I'm disappointed." Turning in his chair, Mr. Rowans dismissed her easily. "Kill her."

From the shadows emerged Cortez, drawing his gun.

"Not in here," Mr. Rowans said, voice irate, "other would hear the gunshot. Dispose of her elsewhere and then return to me."

"Of course." Cortez held the gun to her head, then untied her from the chair slowly. Freezing, Marianne tried not to make any sudden movements, hoping that he wouldn't fire. Her guns were already missing, so he had little to fear from her, but she didn't want to take any chances. 

The door creaked open, and the sound made everyone freeze. An officer poked his head in, intending to ask a question.

"Hey, Mr. Rowans, I was wonde- oh my god!" His face changed to an expression of complete shock as he took in the scene: Mr. Rowans sitting at his desk, calculating, Cortez holding Marianne at gunpoint. With only a flicker of movement Cortez fired at him, sending him falling to the floor of the hallway.

Marianne was shocked, horrified, at what he had done, but she was already moving. The instant Cortez's gun was no longer aimed in her direction, she struck it from the side, sending it flying. Before he could retaliate, she buried an elbow into his stomach and dealt a karate chop to his head. Standard police martial arts training.

Rushing out the door, Marianne found her way suddenly blocked. It was someone she hadn't seen before, a slender man in dark blue robes. She caught a brief glimpse of a shock of dark blond hair, but it didn't really matter, he was just in the way. Bracing herself, she tried to plow through him, but instead found herself deftly turned aside, her momentum carrying her to the floor, where she felt his forearm lock above her neck. Pressure slowly increased.

She suspected he was going to snap her neck, but they were interrupted by the sound of gunfire. In the room behind them Marianne heard something shatter, as if the large window on one side of the room had been broken from without.

"Shile!" Mr. Rowans yelled, sounding panicked for the first time. "Get in here and save me!"

Instantly she felt the hold on her released, and Shile, if that was his name, swept to the other room. Rolling to the side, Marianne vaulted herself to her feet. Time to get out of here. On impulse she picked up Cortez's gun from where it had fallen, then raced down the hallway.

What had happened this time? Obviously, there was someone else firing. She could still hear shots, and now some were coming from the office as well. Running to the nearest window, Marianne caught a glimpse of a red coated figure outside, firing into the window of Mr. Rowans' office. Vash had saved her again? Unless she was careful, she was going to end up owing him a life debt.

For now, it mattered more to get clear of the situation. Unless Vash had another reason to fire into the window of the chief sheriff, he was probably here to save her. It would have been foolish to stay when he wanted her to go. Besides, Vash could probably handle it by himself.

Just then, she saw Mr. Rowans dart from his room, rushing down the hallway. Because she was already some distance in the opposite direction, he didn't see her. A smile slowly appeared on Marianne's face. Perfect.

  
  


The gunfire slowed, as both sides were forced to reloaded weaponry at once. When they aimed again, none of them fired. Seconds ticked by slowly as the standoff increased in length.

"I'm not too certain what the situation is," Vash said eventually, glancing at the three inside the building. The other two had joined, but it didn't seem they could keep up with him, firepower-wise. At least not while they were forced to fire from within the window. "But I doubt any of this fighting is necessary."

"You fired on us," the man in the middle said gruffly.

"Shut up, Donovan," the man on the right sighed. Vash focused on him more, truly seeing him for the first time. Of any of the three, this one made Vash the most nervous. Something about his dark blond hair seemed vaguely familiar, and he held himself the way a warrior did.

"That's enough, Shile!" the man barked. "Who's the leader here, you or me? Cortez, follow Mr. Rowans and make sure he stays safe." The man on the left bowed slightly, then ran in the opposite direction. Vash instantly raised his gun to take him out, but the man who had been called Shile raised his as well, putting them at another standstill.

"Enough, Shile!" Donovan roared. "Stay out of this! I am fighting him! Get out of here!"

For a moment Shile's eyes narrowed, then he merely nodded, a slight smile on his face.

"As you wish. It is your funeral." Before Donovan could even formulate a response, Shile vanished through the door, disappearing into the shadows. Vash remained silent, not interfering. If Marianne was already in danger, he might as well pick them off one at a time. Donovan hurled something toward the wall, and a second later it exploded. Nimbly dodging rubble that came his way, Vash carefully watched the smoke where the wall had been.

Donovan emerged, toting a semi-automatic gun. Vash repositioned his weapon, and neither fired, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

"Well, well, well," Donovan chuckled. "If it isn't the legendary outlaw."

"What of it?" Vash asked calmly, fingering his glasses in his pocket.

"I've always wanted to be known as the man who killed Vash the Stampede. But I never thought I'd meet him."

In silence Vash took out his glasses, flipping them open and putting them on one handed, his gun never wavering. "You'll meet him."

  
  


Sweat pouring down his face, Mr. Rowans slipped around the corner. Putting his back to the wall, he stayed there for a moment, trying to catch his breath. How twisted life could be. In one moment, everything was perfect, the plan moving along wonderfully, and in the next completely chaos. First Vash had actually showed up, for unknown reasons, and then Marianne had escaped. With luck, however, the Hitmen could stop both of them, and everything would turn out alright after all. There was no reason to panic.

A click of a gun being cocked gave him a reason. The barrel of the gun was aimed at his forehead, Marianne stepped around the corner a second later.

"Mr. Rowans," she said coldly. "I am now placing you under arrest."

"Ridiculous!" he sputtered, "I am the head of this Police Department. You cannot arrest me!"

"You have committed a crime," Marianne told him, taking a set of handcuffs from her jacket. "Even you are not above the law." 

"Idiot! You know nothing! Are you still hanging on to those idiotic notions of right and wrong?" She snapped the handcuffs on him, making it obvious what her answer was. Mr. Rowans held still, not daring to struggle while she held the gun to his head, but continued protesting. "Do you think you can survive this? If Vash the Stampede can kill the Hitmen, what do you think you can do to stop him? Do you think Vash the Stampede would spare you?"

"I don't know about Vash the Stampede," Marianne answered, binding his legs together and gagging him as well, "but I trust a guy I know named Vash."

"That's quite enough," Cortez interrupted, stepping from the corridor, his gun aimed at Marianne. "Step away from him slowly..."

  
  


"What's that supposed to mean?" Donovan asked, completely puzzled.

He got his answer in a rather grim form a second later, as his opponent made a sudden move. Instantly he fired a spurt of ammo, but he was far too late. Vash moved to the left, his gun firing twice, one shot shredding Donovan's gun and the other going through his forehead. The remnants of the gun slipped from Donovan's hands, and he hung in the air for a few seconds before collapsing to the ground. 

Moving through where the destroyed wall had been, Vash grimly reloaded his gun and moved into the hallway. He hadn't seen Marianne leave, which meant she was still within the building. While he knew she could take care of herself, she didn't realize that both Cortez and Shile were on the loose as well.

Vash followed the sounds he could vaguely hear to the room where he suspected Marianne was. He arrived just in time to see her abruptly move, swinging her hands down from where they had been raised to the sky, slamming Cortez's wrist. His gun was sent spinning across the room, and a second later Marianne moved on him. Having learned his lesson the first time, Cortez evaded her attack, then turned and ran, quickly vanishing in the branching corridors ahead.

"What now?" Vash asked. Marianne started slightly at his voice, but then merely nodded to him, retrieving her own gun and a second of Cortez's. 

"He's still on the loose, but the situation is more or less under control." Marianne gestured to Mr. Rowan's captured form. Vash nodded.

"Good. One of the other Hitmen is still unaccounted for."

"Hm." Marianne considered her options for a moment. "Now all that's left to do is contact Police Department Headquarters and tell them what happened. This branch of the Department is obviously corrupt, and I'm guessing they'll have to replace everyone. It's a shame, but it has to be done."

"So that's why he was doing all this."

"Right." Marianne moved to a computer terminal in the room, tapping a few keys and bringing it online. Someone had put Department Headquarters on the hotdial of the video phone, so setting up a call was a simple matter. Her fingers hovered over the key for a moment, reluctant to send the message. "Why'd you come back again?"

"One of Hitmen attacked me, and I deduced you were in trouble again."

"But this wasn't your fault. This is one of my personal issues."

"Yes, that's true." Vash paused for a second. "Consider it a gift. When you care about someone, sometimes you do selfless things."

"True," Marianne admitted. That was why she had become a sheriff in the first place. Because she cared about people in general. While she wouldn't have believed the legendary killer Vash the Stampede cared about anyone, this person behind her didn't make that so difficult. How much did he mean by that?

"I guess I should be out of sight," Vash said, voice returning to completely business. "If anyone recognizes me, that wouldn't be the best for the situation, would it?"

"Good idea." As Vash slipped into the shadows, Marianne tapped the computer key. The phone rang only twice before it was picked up, the grizzled face of the High Sheriff himself appearing in the monitor.

"This is quite an interruption," he told her, as calmly as always. "You had better have a very good reason for disrupting me."

"I do, sir," Marianne responded politely. She grabbed Mr. Rowans and forced him to get in range of the video phone. "This man has been exploiting his position. I'm sorry to report that this entire branch of the Police Department has become completely corrupt. There is a lot of evidence, if you need that."

Suddenly, Marianne was nervous. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but now she wasn't so sure. Why would he believe her? Wasn't Mr. Rowan's word better than her own? Sure, there was plenty of evidence on hand, but it was a pretty outlandish claim. Even worse, what would Mr. Rowans do? There was no way he was going to believe her.

The High Sheriff laughed, startling Marianne. That response she had expected last of any.

"Sir?"

For a moment he still chuckled, then grew more sober. Casually he lit a cigar from his desk and blew a smoke ring, then responded, his face nearly a sneer. "You understand so little. Mr. Rowans was acting under my orders. I have had complete knowledge of his actions."

"What?" Marianne glanced back at Mr. Rowans, who was laughing into his gag. Like ice water trickling down her spine, she slowly began to understand what was going on, and it was an uncomfortable feeling.

"You see, the Police Department has, from the very beginning, existed to make money for myself and a few close compatriots. People like Mr. Rowans. Thank you ever so much for informing me that you figured this all out, and for being in a convenient location. There will be agents swarming over there by tomorrow. No one will ever find out about this."

Unable to comprehend, or perhaps merely unwilling to acknowledge, what was being said, Marianne mutely stood in shock for a few moments. What was she supposed to do now? Everything was falling apart, the highest authority she had known in her life had betrayed her. In a few moments, her formerly structured life was burning to ashes.

A hand roughly closed over her mouth from behind, silencing her and lifting her slightly up off the ground. Recognizing the glove as Vash's, Marianne froze. Now what was going on? She didn't fight back, realizing her only chance was in hoping that Vash was making some sort of ploy. Because without the Police Department, he was the only thing she had left.

"I am Vash the Stampede," he said coldly. "Stay out of my business. If you attempt to send anyone here, I will slaughter every man, woman and child in this building. Goodbye."

His gun arm swept up quickly, firing a shot toward the screen, which shattered as the connection was severed. Immediately Vash released her. All Marianne could do was stagger to the nearest desk, burying her head in her arms. Vash's quick work would temporarily slow them down, but it mattered precious little when her life was in ruins.

After a few moments, Marianne felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder. She knew it was his, but glanced up anyway. Vash was standing beside her, eyes looking to the ground. They were sad, so incredibly sad, as if he shared her pain. Somehow, his hand imparted great comfort to her.

"What are we going to do now?" she forced herself to ask. Vash sighed heavily.

"All we can do is control the damages. This is a sinking ship, and it's time to abandon it."

Raising her head, Marianne struggled to her feet. He was right; this was over. Her old life was over.

  
  


-

  
  


So apparently a lot of people have done a Vash Marianne pairing. I couldn't know. I'm curious as to what everyone thinks of it, though.


	6. Ashes to Life

This is the end. Not an epic, but a whole and complete story. However, for the sake of the Alternate Pairings contest, I'll be grammatically correcting previous chapters. But the story is all here, and that's what you're here for, isn't it?

  
  


I'm getting all my comments in here, because I really don't want anything after the end of the story. Of all the endings I've written, this is one of my better, in my opinion. Then again, maybe that's because the entire story has been leading up to this point.

  
  


This is the first chapter in which we have some serious showdowns. Everything comes to an end here, all loose threads are cleared up, all questions are answered, all flashbacks are finished, and the thing we all knew was coming finally happens. However, I wouldn't call it entirely predictable...

  
  


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Chapter 6: ...Ashes to Life

The world had a surreal feel to it, as if everything wasn't quite real. Not wanting to cope with what was happening, Marianne let her mind slip into a numbed mode. Vash was right, they needed to act as quickly as possible.

"Get every person in the building out," he told her. "I'll stay here with him."

"Right." Checking to make sure both of her guns were loaded, Marianne left the room. Thank goodness Vash was still thinking clearly, everything was blurred to her. But this task made sense enough, she could do it.

Back in the chamber, Vash watched after her for a few moments, then looked away. Just to make sure, he pinched a nerve in Mr. Rowan's neck, knocking him unconscious. Sitting back in one of the chairs strewn about the room, Vash put his feet up on the desk and pulled the hand cuffs from his pocket. He sat there staring at them for the longest time...

  
  


"Move everyone, move!" Marianne commanded as loudly as she could. The rest of the office continued to bustle as an unorganized mass. None of them had believed her, until she'd scared them all by saying Vash the Stampeded was here. But now they were all too frightened to be thinking properly, making evacuation horribly difficult.

Most of it was done by this point, though. She had gotten almost all of them out of the building, and told them to head for the nearby town. Hopefully they would be safe there, at least until she and Vash figured out what to do next.

Glancing about, Marianne's eyes widened as she saw the opposite end of the long corridor. Cortez was standing in a doorway, and behind him she could see other thugs. So apparently he had gone for backup. They were unmoving, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Gripping her gun, Marianne froze as she realized what that would mean. If they opened fire on her, the people in the corridor would be slaughtered. She couldn't allow that to happen.

Gritting her teeth, Marianne forced her hand away from her side. How long would it be before they opened fire regardless?

  
  


By the time Vash was interrupted, he was no longer sitting at the desk. His sixth sense had been acting up on him, so Vash had gotten to his feet. One hand rested on the second gun he had acquired, just in case his personal gun ran out. If there was going to be trouble, he was ready.

The interruption came in the form of a single shot, the sound of it breaking the silence of the room. It was not aimed at him, however, as Vash quickly discovered. Turning immediately to the corridor the bullet had come from, Vash drew his gun, and found himself facing a similarly drawn weapon. At the side of the room, Mr. Rowans was slumped to the ground, blood pouring beneath him from his wound.

Touching upon him only for an instant, Vash's gaze returned to the figure in the doorway. It was that slippery member of the Hitmen, appearing at long last. Shile, if Vash remembered his name correctly.

"Interesting." His voice was like silk. "I find Vash the Stampede here, of all places."

"Why did you kill him?" Vash asked. Shile shrugged, as if it hardly mattered. His gun arm did not waver with the motion.

"He would only have gotten in the way. Besides, he is completely unnecessary for my plan to be complete. Though he was a useful tool, he is only a tool. Foolish spider."

"Spider?" Vash's eyes narrowed, remembering those words from a different mouth, so long ago. "You echo the past."

"Do I? Well, good." Shile smirked slightly. "No more words are necessary. Shall we dance?"

  
  


It was time, their patience was wearing thin. Marianne had intentionally placed herself apart from the crowd, rightly figuring that Cortez and his men were aiming for her. The first of their bullets fell short of their target, but they charged, getting closer.

Rolling to the side, Marianne dove into a side corridor. Running to the point where it crossed another corridor, Marianne turned and fired toward the opening, dropping the first few thugs as they came around the corner. As she had suspected, Cortez was staying back, so she only dropped a few flunkies. At least they were no longer after the others. If she could just keep them off her for a long enough time, the others would be safe.

Bolting around another corner, Marianne bent back past it long enough to launch a few more bullets after her pursuers. It kept them down for a few moments, but they quickly charged forward, forcing her to flee once again.

Now there were two stairways to the second level, and she had only a few instants to choose one. This was part of the building she'd rarely been to before, and she struggled with the decision for a moment before randomly choosing one.

Reaching the top of the stairs and reaching a wall, Marianne quickly glanced down the hallway. Nothing. Then she'd chosen wrong and this was a dead end. Eyeing the row of large windows, Marianne quickly formulated a strategy. Turning, she fired with both guns down the staircase. Because they had to rush up the staircase to get to her, it held them off for a moment, but soon they began to return fire, and she was forced to flee.

Bracing herself, Marianne leapt out the second story window. It was a dangerous move, but far less dangerous than staying above and letting herself get shot to death. Twisting in midair, she did her best to fire back into the building. She thought she saw a few of her pursuers slump, so perhaps she had gotten lucky.

As she had expected, the ground was very painful. Even with sand, it sent a wave of pain throughout her body. But this building had short stories, and she had been pretty sure she could survive the fall. Making it to her feet, she felt bruised, but neither of her legs seemed to be broken or even sprained. Good.

It was then she realized that against the sand she made an obvious target. Running parallel to the building, Marianne fired into the series of windows along the upper wall as quickly as she could. Now that she was safely away from the people, she had no need to hold her fire back to avoid hurting them. It went on for an unknown period of time.

Then she realized there was only Cortez left. He stood at the top of the stairs, having come up after all his men. The battle was already over, and he found himself looking down only at the victorious Marianne. She resolutely raised her gun...

Cortez fled. Not a tactical retreat, not a wise move, simple cowardice. Marianne didn't bother to fire after him, it would have done little good. The battle had nearly depleted her entire supply of ammo as well, and she had to conserve. Hopefully, however, the fighting was over. Limping on a slightly sore leg, Marianne moved to find Vash.

  
  


The small boy stood silently, with his hand plastered to the back port of the ship. He looked young, he was even younger. A small circular window gave him the only glimpse he could get of what remained of the fleet.

It was dying, he realized. His young mind had been forced to understand death far too early. Rushing into the atmosphere, the fleet was destroying itself in the ozone layer, entire ships becoming flaming molten metal in an instant. Thousands upon thousands of people were on those, all burning away, never to come back. These were Earth's seeds, Earth's hope, Earth way to survive. And they were all dying.

One of the largest ships drifted slowly, the planet's gravity slowly pulling it down. The bodies were there, the corpses that should not have been. He should have been there, he didn't deserve to survive. Why? Why did all of this have to happen?

"Still thinking about her?" a voice sneered behind him. Vash turned angrily to his brother Knives, eyes blazing.

"This is your fault! It's all your fault!"

"You think to blame me for all of this?" Knives gave him a sinister grin. "I had almost nothing to do with it. By their own stupidity, their own insanity, their own decrepitness, they killed themselves."

"But you killed him!"

"The maniac? Little matter. Who was it that killed the other three? Are you going to forgive him for what he did? He was an insect, and he had to be destroyed. All humans seem so, so flawed."

"No." Vash's voice had changed, burning with anger but firm and unyielding. Startling at the change, Knives turned to his brother, gaze questioning. On his knees, Vash was looking toward the ground, still as if he were mourning. He got to his feet, and his eyes blazed blue. In a swift movement, he slammed Knives into the nearest bulkhead.

"What are you going to do?" Knives asked, his voice for the first time frightened. He hadn't realized his brother was capable of this. "Are you going to kill me?"

There was a long pause, as if Vash was considering his response. "No," he finally answered, loosening his grip on Knives' shirt. "I'm not like them. I'm not like you. You spend so much time saying that humans you weak, but you are the flawed one!"

  
  


Ducking behind the heavy wooden desk, Vash avoided his opponent's gunfire. The next instant he darted over his shield, firing back at Shile. He was already under cover as well, and returned fire the next instant.

Vash fired a few shots just to keep Shile down, then reloaded his gun. As soon as Shile stopped a burst of fire, Vash whirled around. Vaulting atop the table, he leapt into the air, over the table Shile had hidden himself behind as well. He looked up and tried to fire, but Vash's foot swept his gun away, sending it flying across the ground.

Jumping away from him, Shile made a leap to rival Vash's across the chamber. In the air, the wrappings on his arm shattered, and his hand transformed into a gun. Vash was shocked, but not enough to prevent him from rolling back under the cover of the desk once again. The desk was mostly shattered by the stream of gunfire, but it held. Not for another attack, though.

So that was what he was. Vash grimly acknowledged this fight could be far more difficult than he had imagined. This was why Shile reminded him so much of someone, he was like him and Knives. Of course, Vash had no idea how he had come to be in the first place, so it was perfectly reasonable that there would be other sentient Plants. Whatever had caused his existence had caused another.

Then the time for thinking was over, as Shile was attacking once again. This time he targeted the ceiling, obviously intending to crush Vash along with the rest of the building. Quickly rolling to his feet, Vash moved for the nearest wall, dodging rubble as it fell around him.

Cursing, Shile continued firing with both his gun and his arm, this time after Vash. By this point, the ceiling would soon collapse, and this part of the building would be rubble. That was irreversible, but if Vash got outside the effort would be wasted. Unfortunately, the red clad figure was dodging in and out of the fallen pieces of the ceiling, preventing Shile from getting a good shot at him.

Time was running out, and Shile began moving to get outside himself. The collapse of the building couldn't kill him, but Vash probably could finish him in his injured state. Suddenly Shile saw Vash before him, but it was too late. He had been momentarily eclipsed by falling rubble, and when he emerged from the other side, he was diving through the air on his side, both guns firing. 

Three of his bullets hit their mark, one destroying his gun, one ricocheting off his gun arm and the last burying itself in his shoulder. Vash was already rolling and on his feet again, getting free from the building.

Shrugging off pain, Shile continued his escape, glancing down at his gun arm. It was damaged, but not so that he couldn't fire it. Good. Both of them got clear of the building before fully half of it crashed to the ground. Neither of them payed the slightest attention to the destruction, again opening fire on one another.

One of Vash's guns was out of ammunition, Vash dropped it without a second thought, instead using that hand to cartwheel over the ground. His other arm continued to fire at Shile as he cartwheeled. From such an angle while moving, Vash's aim was severely thrown off, but he managed to wound Shile in his other shoulder and nick his leg.

Then Shile was firing, his bullets coming quickly. Vash was empty, but he daren't throw his personal gun away. Instead he dodged backward, evading each of Shile's bullets. His opponent tried to fake him out, but Vash could tell by the movements of the muscles in his upper arm what he truly intended to do.

Given a moment of peace, Vash quickly reloaded. Suddenly he realized that Shile's weapon was aiming at a target other than him, and that couldn't be good. He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to realize that Shile had dislodged the side of the building above him. Rubble crashed over Vash, burying him completely.

Laughing, Shile kept his gun aimed at the pile. If that wasn't enough to finish off Vash, he could do the job himself. Taking aim carefully, Shile prepared to fire.

Within the pile of rubble, Vash found himself pinned upright by the stones of the building. It wasn't all that heavy, but if he moved any of it, Shile would know he was alive and finish him off. Dust floated from the rubble above him, trickling through his hair. He had clenched his gun tightly, and managed to keep ahold of it. Deep in his arm, he felt a stirring.

"I had to kill her," he explained, voice shaking. "She wouldn't join me so I had to kill her, see? That makes sense, doesn't it? I had to kill her."

His eyes were wide and shaking, he babbled over himself, his speech confusing and twisted. In his shaking hands he held a gun, and on the floor lay the body of another of the ship's crew mates. Vash and Knives looked on grimly, recognizing true madness. Rem was shocked, her mouth hanging slightly slack.

"Please, calm down," she said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Stay back!" he demanded, eyes rolling in his head, fear in his voice. "She wouldn't join me so I had to kill her. That makes sense, right? Don't join kill don't join kill." His words faded into a mindless babble. Holding out both her arms harmlessly, Rem moved toward him slowly. Her eyes were compassionate and gentle, and the madman calmed just slightly. Still, he backed against the wall, shrinking from her touch.

"We mean you no harm," Rem continued. "We can help you. Please, just put down the gun..."

Trembling, he shrank back, now completely against the wall. Rem moved onward, keeping her eyes locked on his. From the doorway, Vash and Knives stood in complete silence, not wanting to speak for fear of starting him and ending the spell Rem seemed to have cast. Both pairs of eyes were grim, absolutely riveted to the scene. Slowly, Rem's hand rested lightly on the gun...

The gunshot seemed to scream in Vash's ears, a scream that was soon accompanied by his own. His mind replayed the horrible image over and over, the trigger being squeezed, the bullet ripping through her, the blood in the air.

"Rem," Vash whispered, tears falling freely from his eyes. His voice rose to a desperate shout. "Rem!"

  
  


Amid the rubble, Vash felt the change come over his arm. His gun glowed, and his arm began transforming, changing, becoming covered in a new substance. From his back feathery wings sprouted. Grimly concentrating, Vash halted the transformation, only allowing his Angel Arm to manifest itself at less than full power.

Standing on the outside, Shile briefly shook his head, looking at the rubble again. Had it shifted, just slightly? Surely, if Vash was in there, he was severely wounded. But if he wasn't dead, could he still pose a threat?

A hot beam of pure energy flooded from the pile, vaporizing the rubbles surrounding Vash as if it had never existed. Shile gaped in shock for a fraction of a second as the flood of power encompassed him entirely, wiping him away. His very existence was washed away, fragmenting him into atoms, which were ripped apart in the storm of oblivion.

Then Vash was alone, standing in the rubble. He halted the Angel Arm's destruction, forcing it back. Though the ground directly around him was devastated, nothing nearby had been destroyed. As he forced the transformation back, the decaying remnants of his wings and the Angel Arm morphed into a dark brown cloak that surrounded Vash. A wind picked up, blowing the cloak over and around him, partially eclipsing his face.

It was over. Finally over. Vash's head whipped up as he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced behind him quickly, but recognized that it was only Marianne. So she had survived as well. Tired and weary, Vash managed to smile slightly, glad to see her.. Around them, the night was falling, throwing everything into shadow.

A click sounded as a gun was cocked, and both Marianne and Vash froze. Narrowing his eyes, Vash realized Cortez had emerged from the shadows, and his gun was now placed at the side of Marianne's head. Vash was paralyzed, for once out of options. If he so much as moved, Marianne would die.

"Stay where you are, both of you," Cortez hissed, quite unnecessarily. "Set your weapons down slowly. I've wired this place with enough explosives to light the horizon afire. Just admit to yourself that there's nothing you can do to stop this."

"Don't you believe in miracles?" 

Shocked by the sound of the voice, Cortez tried to turn, look behind him, see who was speaking. He had barely moved when a bullet ripped through his skull, sending him falling to the ground, instantly dead. Marianne and Vash turned slightly, to stare.

Behind Cortez, Wolfwood stood, still holding his smoking gun at head level. His expression was one of extreme calm. Cortez struck the ground, raising dust, and Wolfwood returned his gun to its place.

"Why are you here?" Vash and Marianne asked at the same time. They glanced at each other in surprise, then back at Wolfwood.

"I decided to go here to start over," Wolfwood explained. "I've started a new orphanage, it's going great. I heard about a lot of trouble over here on this side of town, but I figured it was none of my business. Tonight, for some reason, I just felt like I needed to come out here. I don't know," Wolfwood shrugged, "I'd be a pretty bad priest if I didn't believe in miracles."

Vash smiled slightly, nodding to Wolfwood.

"This is good and all," Marianne broke in, "but didn't he say something about making the entire headquarters explode?"

All three of them glanced at one another, then, as one, made a mad dash away from the building.

  
  


Residents of the city could only stare in awe at the gigantic explosion that ripped through the Police Department Headquarters. The cloud of smoke that remained after it lasted for some time, eventually being blown away the next day. Agents of the police agency came and asked questions, but ultimately left, having no information to go by, as the destruction had been total. Fortunately, all of the personal of the building had been evacuated beforehand, so none of them were killed in the explosion. Only a sheriff known as Marianne had been killed. Relatively low casualties, for an issue involving Vash the Stampede.

  
  


Outside of the city, lights glowed within the small church that was known as the priest's orphanage. No adults dared come nearby, for rumors of dangers that lurked near it. A few bounty hunters had gone to see if someone dangerous was hiding out there. None of them had returned. Only the children came, lost and alone, crying and hungry.

A man stood at the door of the church alone, staring out into the stars above. It was an extremely clear sky, out here, away from the lights and noises of the city. All of the stars shone brightly. Vash's long red cloak was blown back just slightly by the cool breeze that blew past him. His glasses were off, nothing between him and the stars.

Marianne softly came up behind him, but he sensed her, turning to glance into her eyes before returning his gaze to the stars. They remained side by side for some time, just looking up at the endless expanse.

"The building is completely gone," Marianne told him.

"This will keep the legend of Vash the Stampede alive and well," he answered her. "Once again, he leaves complete destruction in his wake. Not even the police are above his scourge. Where he goes, nothing remains."

"It just builds, doesn't it?" Marianne asked him softly. He nodded, his gaze still upward.

"The legend will not die."

"But the true casualty of the Stampede is you, isn't it?"

This comment caused Vash to look down at her, his eyes searching, wondering what exactly she was thinking, what she meant by that. There were so many ways to take that comment, so many alternate interpretations. His heart yearned to hope for the best. In his life, he had all too often expected the worst.

"Who did you say the legend hurt?" he asked her. She seemed to understand the significance of the question.

"A man named Vash." Another moment of silence, but a good moment.

"Thank you," he finally answered. "More than you know." He let the thanks hang in the air a second before moving on. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

"Fade away, I guess," Marianne answered him truthfully. "Everyone will forget about what happened, and about me. There's no way I can go back to being a sheriff, and the entire department would probably be after me if they thought I was alive. That part of my life is completely over."

"So you won't be arresting me now?" Vash asked, semi-playfully, though his expression didn't change. She recognized it for what it was.

"Would that have even been right? I think that the Police Department needs to be jailed far more than you do."

"Oh. Well, won't be needing these then," Vash said, mock flippantly, tossing the handcuffs into the air. They glimmered in the moons' light for a moment, then fell into the shadows, vanishing. Very fitting, Marianne acknowledged, they mirrored her own change perfectly.

"I have a question," she said, somewhat hesitantly. What if she asked and got the wrong answer? What if she had just been dreaming this entire time? What would that mean for her future? "Back when we first met... do you remember that?"

A slight smile crossed Vash's face. "Yeah."

"I know you were pretending then, not being yourself for reasons I still don't understand. I know that was an act. But you said that you loved me. What was that? Was that all part of the act?" There. She had said it. For a long moment she was kept in suspense and Vash's expression was blank. When he did speak, he did so slowly.

"I did a lot of things during that time I regret. But that wasn't one of them. And do you remember that offer I made?" It was Vash's turn to be hesitant. Nonetheless, he turned to her, his eyes questioning. "It's still open."

"Oh..." Smiling, Marianne embraced him. Seconds after, she felt Vash's arms around her as well. They were both gentle and strong, not rough as they had been so long ago. It was a long moment indeed, doing nothing but holding each other. Finally Vash kissed her, and they stayed together, alone under the stars...

"Well, isn't this convenient?" Wolfwood remarked. Suddenly self-conscious, both turned to him, finding the priest calmly leaning against the doorway, blowing a bit of cigarette smoke. Without a word, he dropped the cigarette, then ground it out with his foot. 

"Amazing how these things work out," he went on. "You're in love, you finally figure each other out, everybody's happy and BAM, there's a priest in the room."

Abruptly both of them laughed, and Wolfwood added his laughter to the mix.

"I don't have them on me," Wolfwood continued once they had all calmed down enough, "but you guys won't complain if I do the vows from memory, will you?"

  
  


Wolfwood had made a quick exit afterward, knowing the time to stay and the time to flee, leaving them together. They did absolutely nothing for a very long time. Eventually Vash said four words, four words that he had already said long ago, but now had infinitely more significance.

"I love you, Marianne."

"I love you too, Vash."

And after his name there was nothing but a blessed silence.

  
  
  
  



End file.
